Lost in Jade
by SelahSpinshadow
Summary: Muraki has a most peculiar gift for Oriya. . . . [post-Kyoto] [Jadeite Arc 1, complete]
1. I: The Gift

  
**Author's Note:** A story born out of a dream (although in the dream I was reading a really bad version of this. ^_^; ), so if it's a bit out there, that's why. ~_^ An insidious dream, I knew I had to start typing as soon as I woke up. It quickly became clear that the story I was writing would be a lot longer than the dream-fic, however. Good news for you, not so good news for me. ~_^   
**Warnings:** Hisoka-torture, excessive amounts of sarcasm, OCs (well _someone_ has to work for Oriya...), post Kyoto-arc, eventual OxH???? (we'll have to see...)   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only thing I claim are the original characters. Well, and the plot. ~_^   
**Language Note:** _suou_ has several meanings, but in this case, it's used to refer to a specific shade of red: dark red tinged with brown, the color of old dried blood.   
  


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**Lost in Jade**   
_I. The Gift_

  
It wasn't the first time he had ignored me in favor of another pet, but this time was different. This time even my vast resources were useless, finding nothing as if the man didn't even exist. And in a sense, I suppose, that was the problem; his pet existed only in the worlds of the dead. But it becomes troublesome to dispose of a man who does not exist.   
And then he came, bearing the broken body of the _bouya_ like some sort of deranged gift. Perhaps in his mind that was what he was. A gift to placate me, to distract me from his own obsession. It worked, as I'm sure he knew it would, but so help me, I don't know why.   
  
  
I had fought him once before, sliced him open from throat to pelvis twice, and still there had been less blood then. What clothes remained were stained _suou_ with his blood, ruddy tracks sluggishly oozing from several lacerations. It would not do for others to know I was nursing a broken boy, so I hid him away in my room, risking leaving him unattended for a moment to collect the supplies I would need. Curious eyes watched, but I knew Cheisa had assumed I was tending Muraki yet again and I was not about to correct her.   
"Wh-where. . . ?"   
"Save your strength, _bouya_. Whatever he did this time, your body isn't healing properly."   
"Tsu . . . zu. . . ."   
"I don't know where your friends are," I sighed as I settled beside him again. To my shame, I had briefly forgotten about them. No doubt the other _shinigami_ would soon be pounding down my door and demanding their collegue's return. So be it. I had no use for the boy and it would spare me the expense of healing him.   
But hours passed and no one came. I had stopped the bleeding, surprised at the abuse I uncovered as I cleaned away the dried blood. _Bouya_ drifted in and out of consciousness and in those long hours I noticed little change in his condition. As _shinigami_ his body should have already recovered, but with Muraki involved. . . .   
He cried out for Tsuzuki a number of times, albeit weakly. Even though there was nothing more I could do for him, I kept my silent vigil, watching and waiting. And waiting yet more as the darkness of night faded into the golden light of the dawn. And still there was no one. Surely they had to know it was Muraki who had taken him. Why, then, had they not come to the Ko Kaku Rou immediately? Why was **I** left tending the wounds of such a spoiled brat? A silly boy with skin like porcelain and hair like a golden dawn. . . .   
No, he was nothing but a nuisance. A gangly youth trapped in a body that would never know maturity, that would never blossom into adulthood. I could almost pity him.   
I was still sitting vigil over him when he awoke again.   
"Y-you. . . ."   
"Yes, me. You can thank me later. Now drink this."   
"What . . . what is it?"   
"Medicine, _baka_. Don't be so suspicious. If I wanted to hurt you, why would I tend your wounds?"   
Whether he sensed my sincerity or simply could not think of a suitable counter to my words, he drank the tea. I could tell that even sitting up for that had nearly exhausted him again, but he was apparently intent on speaking with me. I supposed that I could have scolded him to rest, but what did I care? Though it _was_ worrisome that his friends had not come for him yet. . . .   
"Wh-where . . . am I?"   
"The Ko Kaku Rou. More specifically, in my bed," I replied calmly, smiling slightly as a crimson blush rose in his cheeks. It was a mean and petty sport, perhaps, baiting him like that, but I needed _something_ to keep me entertained while I watched over him.   
"Why? Why are you . . . helping me?"   
"I have no quarrel with you, _bouya_, not today," I said quietly. I was not about to tell him that I was doing it for selfish reasons: his continued existence was all that kept Muraki from abandoning me completely for his purple-eyed pet.   
"I . . . I don't understand."   
"Of course you don't. I wouldn't expect it of you. Children can hardly be expected to understand the affairs of adults," I said as I turned away from him to tend my pipe. Turning my back to him was a mistake, one I realized too late as the teacup I gave him thumped into my back before shattering against the floor.   
"I am NOT a CHILD!"   
"You act like one," I murmured, turning back to frown down at the broken shards of stoneware. The teacup had not been one of any value, but still, its loss was annoying. Fortunately, I had at least had the foresight to keep his small store of _ofuda_ out of his immediate reach.   
"You are a guest in my home and this is how you repay me?! Were you not taught any better than this?"   
". . . _gomennasai_. . . ."   
Strangely enough, his apology sounded truly genuine. It was not what I had expected from him. Another angry outburt or perhaps sullen silence, but not regret.   
"Get some rest," I said quietly, leaving my pipe unlit on the dressing table. "For what it may be worth, you have my word that you are safe here."   
Something soft flickered through those emerald eyes momentarily and then he nodded, sliding down into sleep once more. The angry bruises stood out plainly against his pale skin, unchanged from when he had arrived. Undoubtedly the lacerations hiding under his bandages were the same. It made no sense but I knew that if I was to keep watch over him, I would need to eat something. Muraki had given him to me for some reason; I didn't worry that he would return to take him away again. Still, keeping the boy's presence from my staff would not be easy.   
"_Ohayo_, Owner. Is Muraki-san well?"   
"_Ohayo_, Sonashi and I wouldn't know."   
"But aren't you. . . ?"   
"No, I'm not. Is the coffee ready?"   
"_H-hai_, Owner," the cook stuttered, understandably surprised; I rarely drank coffee. But with almost no sleep. . . .   
Breakfast, a shower, a fresh _yukata_, and another cup of coffee later, I had returned to my vigil once more. _Bouya_ was restless in his sleep, nightmares clawing at his sleeping mind. And though a part of me wanted to ease his distress, I couldn't bring myself to wake him. I was an enemy in his eyes, I knew that; he would take nothing from me that I did not force upon him and comfort cannot be forced.   
A rainy day, as they often are in the spring. The sound of the rain seemed to help him sleep better and I was relieved. It was also soothing me towards sleep; though I had intended not to sleep while he was still in my care, dreams pulled me down anyway. Strange dreams that would not be caught, flickering images of emerald eyes and honey hair.   
I started awake at the timid knock on my door. Not wanting anyone to see the boy in my bed, I hurried to the door, stepping out into the corridor and closing it behind me before Cheisa could see inside.   
"Owner?"   
"Cheisa? What is it?"   
"_Anou_ . . . conflicting rumors are going around. Is everything well? No one has seen you since this morning and it's nearly dusk now. I was beginning to worry."   
"I'm fine, Cheisa. Tell Tonaka that he'll have to attend our customers tonight in my stead."   
"_Hai_, Owner. Should I bring up your dinner?"   
"And a second bowl of soup as well," I directed, knowing it sounded suspicious.   
"_Hai_. . . . Owner?"   
"What is it now, Cheisa?"   
"_Is_ Muraki-san in your room? When you took those bandages last night . . . but this morning you told Sonashi that he wasn't here."   
"He _was_ here. He's gone now," I replied simply, silently challenging her to ask anything more and knowing that she wouldn't. Not when I was wearing that look. She had been a _geisha_ at the Ko Kaku Rou too long to question that look aloud. Whatever she thought of my actions privately, she would obey my directives.   
I waited outside my room for her return, staring up at the silver moon. Where _were_ those _shinigami_? Why were they leaving me with this child? If I knew of some way of contacting them . . . but I didn't. All I could do was wait, either for them to come collect their collegue or for him to regain enough strength to leave on his own.   
Cheisa returned, clearly surprised to see me still standing there, but handed me the tray without a word and returned to her work. I waited for her to turn the corner before re-entering my room. Vivid emerald eyes were waiting for me.   
"Ah, awake again, _bouya_. Good, then I won't have to wake you for your medicine."   
I set the tray just out of his reach, trying not to smile at the irritation that flashed in those green eyes. As often as Muraki had come bearing injuries of all sorts, I kept quite the pharmacy in my room and so adding the necessarily powder to his soup was done easily enough. Getting him to drink it, however, was likely to be another matter entirely.   
"I assume you can drink this yourself," I said in amusement as I passed him the bowl. He glowered at me briefly as he accepted the soup, but he couldn't hide the slight tremor in his hands. Still, he seemed intent on persevering regardless of any physical weakness and so long as he was actually drinking the soup, I was content to let him.   
I was only half finished with my dinner when he had finished his and I could see the hunger in his eyes. Not a particular surprise; though he had slept all day, the soup was the first food he'd had since the day before. As thin and frail as he appeared, I could only assume he was not one prone to regular meals, so who knew how long it had been since his last meal. While his shaking had decreased slightly, I could tell that he was in no shape to handle chopsticks competently - he would get more food on himself than in his mouth.   
"Still hungry, _ne bouya_?"   
"I haven't eaten since . . . what day is it?"   
"Wednesday."   
"I haven't eaten since Saturday," he confessed, looking down at his hands in shame. "I didn't know he'd held me so long. . . ."   
I could tell he was surprised at his own confession. I was surprised both that he had admitted it to me and that Muraki had been able to hold him so long. As protective as those _shinigami_ had appeared to be of each other, it was strange to hear that they had not rescued him already.   
"He didn't come," he whispered so quietly I could barely hear him. "Why . . . why hasn't he found me?"   
"This, perhaps?" I murmured, lightly tapping one of his bandages. "I know little of magic, but. . . ."   
He stared at the bandages as if he had not seen them before. Perhaps he hadn't noticed earlier, but as he stared at them now, I could see the fear rising in his emerald eyes. Rather than have him dwell on the stubbornly persistent injuries, I tapped the side of the lacquered tray to get his attention.   
"If you're still hungry, I suppose I can have Cheisa bring more food. In the mean time. . . ."   
I offered him a slice of braised beef from my own plate. He blinked at it in surprise for a moment before taking it from my chopsticks and putting it in his mouth. I tried not to roll my eyes at his timidity; you'd think he had never shared a meal with someone before. Then again, he had probably never been hand-fed before.   
Curious to see what he would do, I offered him some rice. He glowered at me then.   
"I can feed myself!"   
"All right, all right," I soothed, passing him both the chopsticks and the rice bowl. I rose to my door, unsurprised at the empty passageway beyond.   
"I'll be back shortly," I told him gently, though he was still glowering at me. I wasn't looking forward to the mess I expected to find on my return, but now that it had become clear I would not be able to keep his presence from the house, it was something that could be handled easily enough. Cheisa could change the bedding while I took the boy down to my bathhouse.   
"Owner!"   
"Sonashi, I need a second meal."   
"_H-hai_, Owner. Is Muraki-san back?"   
"No. Where is Cheisa?"   
"Helping Tonaka-san. Seiya, go tell Cheisa Owner wants her and be quick about it."   
The _geisha_ bowed quickly and skittered off to find the housekeeper. Sonashi prepared another tray while I watched, nervous and curious about the strange request.   
"Owner? Is everything all right?"   
"_Hai_. Bring a change of bedding to my apartment in two hours. And a pot of tea," I ordered as I took the tray from Sonashi. The entire kitchen was now quite curious about my business, but that couldn't be helped.   
As I had expected, _bouya_ had managed to get rice everywhere but in his mouth. What I hadn't expected were the frustrated tears that shimmered in his eyes. He wiped them away as soon as I opened the door, but the tracks were still clearly visible on his cheeks, proving how desperately he needed a bath. It seemed a change of plans was in order. As nice of a night as it was, we could as well eat dinner in my garden.   
"Well . . . perhaps now you will let me help you, _bouya_? But first, I think a bath is in order."   
I set the tray on a side table, fetching the earlier tray and setting it beside the second. He watched me with wary eyes as I pondered what I was going to clothe him in; his own clothes were worthless and he was far too small to wear any of mine. I was beginning to wonder if this was really Muraki's idea of a gift or his notion of a trick. Sighing in annoyance, I rang the call-bell and handed the boy another cup of tea.   
"Here, this should help calm your nerves. Try not to throw this one at me, _ne_?"   
"_Arigatou_," he murmured shyly, studying the warm liquid intently. Thin tendrils of steam rose to caress his cheeks and he closed his eyes, savoring the aroma. I smiled in spite of myself as I watched him; simple pleasures were the finest blessing.   
Nyassa poked her head into the room, then froze at the sight of the strange injured boy in my bed. In truth, I was relieved it was her; Nyassa wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions, accepting that the owner's business was mine alone and none of hers.   
"Mibu-san?"   
"Bon needs a change of clothes. Have something brought down to my bathhouse."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she murmured, bowing once before slipping back out again. I could see the boy tensing as I moved to pick him up, but ignored it. He was surprisingly light, though perhaps not that surprising as I realized how small he truly was. He clutched the teacup tightly, not wanting to touch me any more than necessary. I sighed again, shaking my head at his foolishness, and carried him down to my bathhouse. He would probably argue that he could bathe himself, but I knew better than to believe that.   
I set him down on the bench, propping him up against the tiled wall. He watched in weak fascination as I carefully unwound the bandages; while the various slashes and stab wounds had yet to disappear, they had all closed and scabbed over at least. He offered a faint noise of protest as I finished undressing him, but to my surprise, he said nothing else.   
Over the years I had grown rather adept at bathing someone without disturbing fresh wounds. I think my gentleness surprised him, considering my choice in companions; my ministrations were quite likely the complete opposite of what Muraki had done to the poor boy.   
"Why?" he asked again as I eased him into the tub to soak for awhile. "Why do this?"   
"Gift or trick, you are a guest in my home. I gave you my word that you would be safe. It would have little meaning if I did nothing to help you heal."   
"Muraki wouldn't bring me here to heal. . . ."   
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only he understands his motives, _bouya_. I don't care what he thinks I _should_ do with you."   
"I still don't understand. . . ."   
"I told you, I have no quarrel with you, _bouya_. Relax awhile. I'll be back in a moment," I said quietly, ruffling his hair. He scowled up at me, but it was a reflexive sort of scowl, without the heat of his earlier angry outbursts. As I walked into the foyer of the bathhouse, I could see that a fresh _yukata_ had been set out for the boy, as well as a fresh roll of bandages and a small pot of salve. Our dinner trays had also been moved to a sitting area under the maple where a blanket had been spread over the grass, the dishes covered to keep them warm. A small note was tucked between two overturned teacups; Nyassa had taken the liberty to move our dinner and was also changing the bedding. She had even brought my pipe.   
It was warm for spring, the rain from earlier in the day moving off to leave a clear night sky. Perfect for a dinner out in the garden by the warm glow of candles and torches. I could hear the muted voices of my restaurant's patrons from beyond the courtyard behind me, but I paid them no mind. This was my private garden, concealed from view by a thick stand of trees and the bulk of my home itself.   
"Mibu-san?"   
I walked back into the bathhouse, surprised to see the boy standing beside the bathtub, a towel wrapped around his thin waist. I didn't waste any words, fetching the _yukata_ and then helping him with it. He managed a couple of wobbly steps before giving up and letting me carry him out to my garden. He seemed rather relieved as I set him down, and an actual smile threatened to appear when I presented him with his own dinner.   
We sat in silence as I finished my dinner but _bouya_ only poked at his. He kept glowering at the chopsticks and I knew he was afraid of making a fool of himself in front of me. It seemed a bit of a strange reaction, but then it also gave me a chance to watch him blush again, so I didn't complain.   
"_Oya_, you need to eat, _bouya_. If you need help, ask. There is no shame in that."   
"I'm not that hungry," he lied, a fierce blush rising in his cheeks.   
"You're a rotten liar, Bon," I chuckled, offering him another bit of beef. He gave me another reflexive scowl before picking the meat off my chopsticks. He seemed to be daring me to offer him something else and I was more than happy to meet the challenge in his emerald eyes. He studiously avoided actually eating off my chopsticks until I presented him with rice again. His whole face flushed brilliant crimson as he hesitated - he was still hungry but he didn't want to eat off my chopsticks. Hunger overcoming modesty, he closed his eyes and accepted the food. I smiled in amusement, a smile that only grew wider as we went through the entire bowl of rice in that fashion.   
Our dinners finished, I lit my pipe and settled back to listen to the spring crickets. The evening was becoming chill, but I sensed a reluctance to move in the boy, even though he was beginning to shiver. He edged closer, though I doubted he was really aware of what he was doing. Another warm body, I was simply a source of heat, one that his chilled form was unconsciously drawn to for it's warmth. Foolishness, really, to stay out in the garden so late. When I saw Cheisa approaching, I was quite certain we would both be getting a lecture. Instead, she simply shook her head.   
"_Oya_, _niisan_, he's barely even awake. Put him to bed already; I'll take care of this mess."   
He offered no protest as I picked him up and carried him back to the apartment, his earlier reluctance to touch me banished by his tiredness. I felt for the poor boy; whatever Muraki had done to him - and I truly did not want to know the details - it had wiped out all of _bouya_'s reserves. As I put him to bed, I found myself wondering just how long he would be in my care. As slowly as he was healing, it would likely be a week or more. Unless his friends found him first. I wasn't sure which I wanted, but I couldn't help wondering for the millionth time where they were.   
  


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_End Note:_ I have several fics in progress and rank them according to deadlines and feedback. In other words, the more feedback, the faster I'll work on something. ~_^ You don't _have_ to review, of course (I'll be getting poked over this one by my roommate anyway), but it certainly wouldn't hurt anything either! 


	2. II: Fallen Angel

  
**Author's Note:** Since I was getting poked from several invisible sources, I went ahead and wrote the next day. But after this it'll get filed and ranked like any other project. Yes, Kagami is a real city, though I won't comment on how small it _actually_ is. Um, liberty of perspective??   
**Warnings:** psychological Hisoka-torture, angst, OCs, perhaps excessive amounts of sarcasm, possible Hisoka OOCness (but there's a reason for it!), and more questions than answers! And maybe some OxH vibes? Eh, you tell me.... ~_^   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only things I claim are the original characters and the plot.   
**Language Notes:** _otearai_ - lavatory/bathroom; _furouji_ - juveniel deliquient/street punk; _onibaba_ - (derog.) old bitch; _douji_ - boy/kid; _gaki_ - brat   
  


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**Lost in Jade**   
_II. Fallen Angel_

  
I awoke to the sound of rattan sticks striking each other and sunlight streaming onto my face. It was perhaps mid-morning and Mibu-san had left the door of his apartment ajar. He was teaching someone basic sword forms, showing incredible patience for someone in love with a beast like Muraki. Though perhaps I shouldn't've been so surprised - he had shown me that same patience yesterday, taking my obstinance in stride. But whatever kindness he showed, I couldn't forget who he was, couldn't forget our last encounter. If I had not been _shinigami_, he would have killed me without hesitation.   
I tried to stand but even as I made it to my feet I could tell that I wouldn't be going anywhere today either. At least, not without help. I hated feeling so weak, so dependant on the kindness of others. Particularly _his_ kindness. More than anything, I wanted to go home, but when I tried to make the shift to Meifu, nothing happened. It had been that way since Muraki had captured me, but now that I was free, it was really starting to scare me. I wanted to know why my powers weren't working and I _really_ wanted to know why Tsuzuki hadn't come for me. He always came for me. But this time. . . .   
We were in Kagami, investigating a fairly routine case. Small cities tended to be that way and while it's hardly as far away from Kyoto as you could get in the 2nd Block, it wasn't exactly close either. I don't really remember how I was captured or what exactly Muraki did to me, though I think I'm actually grateful for the latter. And I didn't have any idea how I got here.   
He only re-bandaged a few of the deeper wounds, even though they had all appeared to be closed when he was bathing me last night. Some of the smaller cuts were starting to itch and I hoped that was a good sign. I had never really been injured like this when I was alive, so all I knew was how they were supposed to feel as a _shinigami_. I started to scratch at a cut in my arm, then stopped suddenly as a thin line of dark red blood slowly welled up from the reopened wound. I don't remember making a sound, but I must have done something because the light from the door was suddenly blocked.   
"_Bakayarou_!" he scolded sharply, striding purposefully into the room. "What do you think you're doing, _bouya_?!"   
"I . . . it itched," I fumbled, heat rising to my cheeks. He snorted, then frowned at the thin line of _suou_ gel that was slowly crawling down to my wrist. Even _I_ knew that wasn't right. As many times as I had been sliced open . . . blood was supposed to be bright crimson and thinner, more watery. This . . . this felt like heavy oil and it was the same dark color as dried blood.   
"_Che_ . . . what did he do to you?"   
"I . . . I can't remember. . . ."   
"_Anou_, I think we've found out why you aren't healing normally. . . . Feeling any better today, _bouya_?"   
"Not really," I confessed, surprised at my own honesty. Then again, there was no point in lying; I knew perfectly well that it was a minor miracle I was still standing.   
"_Aa_. Well, _otearai_ first, then breakfast."   
Every time he touched me, I felt two layers of emotion from him: the feelings he knew and the ones his mind hid even from himself. Worry, annoyance, frustration, concern . . . they were strange, but at least they made sense to both of us. I doubt he would have understood had I told him of the second set. Concern there too, but something deeper than just worry for an injured guest. It made no sense, these warmer, kinder feelings that lurked behind his conscious awareness, guiding him without him even realizing it. Why should he care for me? I am nothing to him, a nuisance dropped on his doorstep by his black-souled lover.   
No, not a nuisance. A gift. Was that why he was spending all this time watching over me? But that didn't fit with the emotions I was sensing from him. It was all very confusing and thinking about it was only succeeding in giving me a headache.   
Instead of taking me back to bed, he ended up carrying me to what I could only think to call a sitting room, but one that was open on one side to give an unfettered view of the courtyard. I think I had forgotten just how sizable this place really was . . . and how rich my host was. Still, it felt strange to be set on display, even if the fresh air was supposed to be good for me.   
If I had thought I would learn anything about Mibu-san's business while staying with him, I was quite mistaken. Either there was little he himself needed to do, or he was excusing himself to watch over me. Though apparently, now that I was awake and coherent, he seemed satisfied to relax his watch over me. Once he saw me settled, he resumed the lesson I had interrupted. I watched him and his student intently, focusing on their training to keep my mind from wandering to the host of unpleasant questions lurking under the surface.   
It was just after noon when the housekeeper I vaguely remembered from the night before stalked out and chased Mibu-san and his student off to the showers. He glanced at me, smiling, before letting himself be ordered about. I suppose he was trying to reassure me, but I couldn't help worrying as the woman came over to frown down at me.   
"_Aa_, _niisan_ takes in the strangest strays. . . ."   
"I'm not a stray," I grumbled defiantly, uncomfortably aware that words were the only weapon I had to defend myself.   
"You look it, _furouji_. How he ever thinks you'll be healthy weighing so little. . . . Don't you ever feed yourself?"   
"It's hard to eat when you're tied to a wall and having all your bones broken," I spat back venomously. She didn't even flinch.   
"Save your lies for Owner, _douji_; he might actually believe them."   
"Don't assume you know anything about me, _onibaba_," I hissed. Her eyes grew wide for a second and then she actually slapped me.   
"I don't care what Owner says, you can learn manners or you can go back out onto the streets, _gaki_!"   
I was reaching for an _ofuda_ I didn't have before I even realized what I was doing. I growled wordlessly in annoyance; it was bad enough being so weak, but I wanted my _ofuda_ back. No, what I _really_ wanted was for Tsuzuki to find me already and take me back to Meifu so Watari could figure out what Muraki had done to me this time.   
"Throw me out if that's what you want. See if I care. . . ."   
It was a stupid thing to say, but the only thing I could think was that Muraki had somehow shielded Mibu-san's home. It made sense and it would explain why we would have such a hard time tracking him. And why no one had found me here yet.   
"See if I won't!"   
"Do it, then!" I taunted. "I'm not stopping you!"   
"You think I won't? You think I'm afraid of what _niisan_ will do?"   
"If you aren't, you should be," Mibu-san murmured, startling both of us by his sudden reappearance. "I don't know what you said to him, Cheisa, and I don't care. He stays."   
"But. . . ."   
"He stays," he repeated firmly.   
"_Hai_, Owner," she said at last, bowing low before heading back to the restaurant section. Her anger and his annoyance hammered at my already weakened shields until she was out of sight and I was left only with Mibu-san. His annoyance faded swiftly as he sat with his pipe, careful to settle upwind so as not to subject me to an undue amount of his smoke. Oddly enough, I found that I didn't mind; there was something soothing in the smell of his pipe, though I couldn't even begin to imagine just what that was.   
Another of Mibu-san's girls came with our lunch and a pot of tea. He mixed my medicine himself. Though I was curious, I was also hesitant to actually ask him what he was giving me. He had given me no reason to distrust him, but he _was_ still Muraki's lover. With a silent sigh of annoyance, I kicked myself for reminding myself of that fact yet again. It was so much easier to trust him when I didn't think about his connection to the man responsible for raping and killing me.   
"Here, _bouya_, drink it all, quickly."   
I did as he said without thinking about it, surprising myself in the process. I was not usually one to placidly follow directions, with only a few exceptions. But Mibu-san could have a commanding presence when he so desired and he knew well the tone that made arguing inconceivable.   
I was thoroughly pleased with myself when I managed to eat my meal without any assistance. Outwardly, he appeared to be pleased as well, but facades mean nothing to an empath; I knew that he was inwardly disappointed. Another reaction that made no sense. My list of them was getting annoyingly long.   
I tried not to yawn, but it was a vain struggle. He chuckled as he caught me, a warm sound that easied a knot of worry.   
"Needing a nap, _bouya_?"   
"Why do you . . . call me that?" I asked, annoyed that I'd had to pause for another yawn.   
"Why not?" he asked in amusement.   
"I have a name. . . ."   
"Of course you do. Two of them, since I presume Kurosaki is your family name. . . ."   
"_Hai_. Hisoka. Kurosaki Hisoka."   
"_Aa._ I still prefer _bouya_," he replied with a warm smile. I dredged up my most furious scowl, but still he smiled, a quiet smile of self-assurance. The sort of smile that made me want to wring his neck. The sort of smile that softened his entire face and lifted the years from his shoulders. The sort of smile that could capture hearts.   
. . . .   
I couldn't believe I was just thinking he looked . . . attractive. That I was still thinking it as I sat there, watching him. What was _wrong_ with me? This was the enemy. This was the man who harbored and abetted a psychotic rapist and murderer who fully intended to kill me. This was the man who had sliced me open not once but twice in the interest of delaying us from reaching Muraki in time to save Tsuzuki. This was . . . this was the man who had sat beside my bed all night and all day. The man who had patiently tended my wounds, saw that I took my medicine, made sure I ate, and even provided me with clean clothes.   
"_Saa_, nap time, _bouya_," he murmured as he stood up. I sat, transfixed, as I watched him cross the room, picking me up all too easily. I tried to force myself to stay rigid, to minimize the contact between us, but those warm emotions were back again, stronger this time than before. The desire to help, to heal my hurts. Concern for my well-being. Worry for what Muraki had done and what he still intended to do. Anger and a burning conviction that he would give Muraki a sound beating at their next meeting. All of these things and more flowed into me from him, carried on a steady current of warm caring. It made absolutely no sense but it felt so soothing that I felt myself relaxing against him inspite of myself.   
Even more irrationally, I was reluctant to lose his presence as he settled me on his bed. Only Tsuzuki had ever held me with such warm thoughts and ever since Touda's fires, my partner's presence had been darkened by a deep sadness. There was a sadness here, too, but it was nothing compared to Tsuzuki's lingering dispair. In comparison, Mibu-san was almost a blinding source of warmth.   
"Sleep, _bouya_. You need the rest. I'll be here if you need me, _daijoubu_?"   
"_Hai_. _Arigatou_, Mibu-san."   
He smiled again, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something. Apparently he changed his mind, ruffling my hair in silence before letting himself out of the room. If I thought Tsuzuki could be frustrating and confusing at times, Mibu-san was much worse. And why oh why was I comparing the two of them?   
My dreams were haunted by ghosts of chocolate eyes and the scent of fragrant pipe smoke, mingled with visions of Tsuzuki laughing at me for ever thinking I could be more than just his partner. I tried to deny them, but they refused to be controlled. I fought back the only way I knew how, bolting upright in a cold sweat.   
"_Bouya_? What is it?"   
"Nightmare," I rasped, my hand reaching out for the glass of water before my mind had even processed it's appearance. The cool water felt good to my parched throat and I tried to push the disturbing dreams from my mind. Of course I was important to Tsuzuki. Of course I meant more to him than just another partner. I didn't know why he hadn't come for me yet, but I was confident that he had a reason for it.   
"Muraki?"   
"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Could he . . . could he mess with my dreams? Change my dreams as I was dreaming them?"   
"I don't know, _bouya_. I don't know his powers and I don't want to know; it would only make me fear him and I don't want that."   
"I . . . I guess that makes sense," I sighed, passing back the now empty glass.   
"What was the dream?"   
"It wasn't the dream - I knew it was a lie. But I couldn't break free of it, I couldn't control it. . . . I guess I panicked."   
"It happens," he replied quietly, setting aside the glass before turning back to me. He was giving me his full attention and I revelled in the sense of power; it was so rare that I had someone's undivided attention for any amount of time.   
"How long was I asleep?"   
"Nearly all afternoon. I expect Sonashi will be grumbling for my dinner plans soon. If your friends don't come for you tomorrow, I suspect my assistant manager will be ready to quit."   
"You don't have to stay and watch over me," I replied without thinking, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I don't want to be a burden."   
"And if I leave you alone, Cheisa just might try to throw you out onto the streets. You wouldn't last a day out there. Or are you forgetting this morning?"   
"But. . . ."   
"Don't worry for me, _bouya_. But if you know of some way I could contact your friends. . . ."   
"If I still had my magic. . . ."   
"But if you still had your magic, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he concluded, smiling. "_Aa_, no sense worrying over it. They'll find you eventually, I'm sure."   
He ruffled my hair again as he stood and walked out of the room. I felt like I should have been annoyed with him for continually mussing my hair, but I couldn't summon the necessary emotion. It was a gesture of familiarity and safety. For the first time I actually let myself believe that he would protect me. 


	3. III: Empty Promises

  
**Author's Note:** Great big thank yous to everyone who's reviewed (and all the rest of you who are reading (and re-reading?) but not reviewing ~_^). You guys are so lucky all my other "in progress" works are caught in beta so you don't have to wait so long for a new chapter. That's not going to last much longer! _*shakes a warning finger*_   
Anyway . . . I haven't gotten very far with the manga, so all my Oriya experience is from the anime (can you tell?), where he's kind of a window-dressing character. Oh don't look at me like that. I love him, too, but it's the truth! So! I took some liberties with his history. Huge liberties. You can tell me how screwed up I am in review if you must. :p   
**Warnings:** Angst, invasion of the OCs, more angst, Hisoka weirdness, mild OxH. Did I mention angst? o.o   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only things I claim are the original characters and the plot. If I claimed a million dollars, would you give it to me? Yeah, I didn't think so either.... ~_^   
**Culture Notes:** Eh, I could make notes here, but then it'd ruin the point of reading this so, um, just trust me? o_o Or scream in reviews and then I'll explain next time. ¬_¬   
  


* * *

  


**Lost in Jade**   
_III. Empty Promises_

  
Thursdays were usually one of our more quiet nights, so I suppose it was only natural that it was a disaster this week. I have power through the people I know, the connections I can make; if a client is dissatisfied for any reason, it falls to me to make it right. I knew this and under normal circumstances, I would never once complain. But these were hardly normal circumstances. Despite his minor triumph with the midday meal, _bouya_'s coordination was still off. And I was, perversely enough, enjoying having to hand-feed the boy.   
Unfortunately, fate was conspiring against me. Business before pleasure, though I would have rathered that I could have had it the other way around. No such luck. _Bouya_ got a fork and I got . . . grouchy customers. To be honest, I think he got the better deal. . . .   
Despite my best efforts, it was well after midnight by the time I was able to return to my apartment. By then not only was _bouya_ sound asleep, but someone had cleaned him up and helped him to bed. There was nothing left for me to do, though I adjusted his blankets anyway. I briefly considered sleeping in my own bed - the futon was wide enough for two - but the notion passed swiftly. Somehow, I doubted he would appreciate my closeness, particularly as I had already let him sleep alone for two nights.   
Another night of strange dreams and I was beginning to suspect that Muraki had done more than just disrupt _bouya_'s magic. It would be like him to plant an obsession, though I had long thought myself protected from his magic. If he _had_ done such a thing. . . another reason for me to remind him which of us was a master of the sword when next he came to me. Right after I made him pay for _bouya_'s expenses, and right before I threw him out. Preferably in the rain.   
The morning fog was thick, an ethereal blanket tucked over the city, washing everything with grey. I left _bouya_ sleeping to make my way to the small shrine. This land had been my family's home for generations, though the restaurant and geisha house were relatively new. I said relatively, but my family had maintained the Ko Kaku Rou for over a hundred years. Mine was a family rich in tradition . . . if poor in members.   
The years felt suddenly heavy as I entered the family shrine, though I was only in my third decade. Young enough to avoid the quiet whispers yet old enough to begin to feel the weight of expectation. Two, perhaps three more years before they would begin, those secretive whispers behind my back, the constant questioning. When would I finally settle with a woman and raise a family? In five years, those whispers wouldn't be so secretive, disapproving looks cast my way for not honoring tradition. For not conforming with expectation. All the power in the world would only stave off those expectations for so long. . . .   
Having sought the aide and wisdom of the ancestors, I returned to my more normal morning rituals. Reviewing the logbook from the night before, walking through the public rooms, sending the night manager home, checking in with my staff . . . all the little things that were the normal procedure of my life. With a yawning Nyassa in tow, I returned to my rooms for a quiet breakfast with Bon. I tried not to smile as I saw him still asleep, sprawled across my bed with the blankets in disarray; I would not have guessed him to be such an energetic sleeper, particularly given his overall lack of strength.   
Nyassa was giving us curious looks as I knelt beside my bed. I wasn't particularly surprised; I knew full well that the younger girls were all quite taken with my beautiful guest. Whispered sighs and shy smiles that they tried to hide amongst themselves Several rumors had already cropped up since he was very obviously sleeping in my bed . . . and just as obviously in poor health. Girls will be girls and anything I tried to do would only make the situation worse, so I pretended ignorance.   
"_Saa_, time to wake up, _bouya_," I murmured, shaking his shoulder gently.   
"_Shimatta_," he grumbled. "What happened to letting the sick sleep?"   
"Sleep too much and you'll never regain your strength, Bon," I replied, smiling as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He looked up at me with bleary emeralds, then pushed himself into a sitting position. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his crossed arms on them, then let his head fall down to meet them. It was a protective posture I recognized far too well. The sooner Nyassa left, the better things would be.   
"Mibu-san?"   
"Thank you, Nyassa. That will be all for now."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she murmured before quickly leaving the room. I listened to her receding footsteps for a moment before reaching out to rest a comforting hand on the curve of _bouya_'s back. He flinched, then a ragged sigh rattled out of his thin frame.   
"Why?"   
"Why what, _bouya_?"   
"Why didn't he come for me? Why is _he_ always trying to kill me? Why am I here? Why aren't I healing? Why do you care? Why any of it. . . ? I don't understand. . . ."   
"_Ara_ . . . is that all," I replied quietly, but either the humor was lost or he had simply reached the end of his endurance. Whichever was the case, his whole body trembled with the quiet sobs he was trying to hide from me. Comfort cannot be forced, it is true, but this time I didn't think about such things. I knew only that this beautiful boy was suffering terribly and that he needed the reassurance. There would be time for him to be angry later, after he had regained his equilibrium. Until then I would hold him and be his strength.   
His walls crumbled even further as my arms slipped around his too-thin frame, the sobs no longer restrained. I let him cry as long as he needed, smoothing honey-gold hair and whispering meaningless words of comfort. I had done this perhaps a dozen times for my girls, offering a supportive shoulder when memory and pain became too much, but for _bouya_ it was different. More than just the physical difference between male and female.   
Damn that man.   
When his tears were exhausted, he sagged against me, surprising me even further. Not that I was objecting, but . . . I had rather been expecting him to pull away. To dash away the last remnants of his tears and try to pretend that nothing had happened.   
"_Gomen_," he whispered weakly. "I don't mean to be such a burden. . . ."   
"You don't have to apologize, _bouya_."   
"But. . . ."   
I tilted his chin up so he could see the sincerity in my eyes.   
"You don't have to apologize."   
Eyes the color of new leaves peered into the very depths of my soul, searching for truth no doubt. Something poked at the back of my head, a strange sensation as if someone was sifting through my mind. Feelings and memories flickered through my thoughts seemingly at random, out of my control. I tried to sort them more logically, but instead was batted away by some presence. Though I have never been a man prone to panic, for a moment I felt that crawling sensation nipping at me. Then _bouya_ smiled, satisfied with himself, and shifted around to rest his head on my shoulder.   
"He didn't tell you," _bouya_ murmured, a hint of laughter in his tone.   
"Didn't tell me what?"   
"I'm an empath," he chuckled softly. "Physical contact strengthens my ability to read people; if the mind is open enough, I can even read thoughts."   
"And you were just reading mine."   
"_Gomen_," he murmured, looking down at where our hands had pooled in his lap. "But you've felt so strange. I . . . I needed to know the truth. I didn't read everything, just . . . just what you thought of me. It was enough. . . ."   
"Then you may well know my mind better than I do, _bouya_."   
"_Hai_. And no, I can't prove it's not his doing. But if it is . . . it worked. . . ."   
"Did it?"   
"You're distracted, aren't you?" he replied quietly, looking up at me then. That wasn't exactly what I meant, and I was fairly certain that he knew it. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pulled away from me to stand up and walk over to our breakfast with wobbly steps.   
"You should push me more," he said as he sat down at the table. "Then I'll go home and you can beat him up for me."   
"I'll take that to mean you're feeling better today," I replied, not sure how I felt about that.   
"A little. At least I don't _think_ a strong breeze is all it would take to knock me over," he said, smiling. Such a strange expression on him. Though I've barely known him, this is the most I've ever seen him smile. It looks good on him, though too much like an expression he is unused to wearing.   
After such an . . . exciting morning, the dull routine of the day could almost be considered a letdown. If we could be said to have a routine. _Bouya_ spent most of the morning sitting and watching the courtyard; despite what he had said, walking across a room was enough to tire him. I could almost feel his intense interest as he watched me give Shinji his daily lesson and silently welcomed my second student.   
After the midday meal, it was time to move back inside and check his injuries. Nearly all of the bruises had disappeared, much to _bouya_'s relief, though the long gashes on his back were another matter. To my annoyance, they had turned an angry red and though they weren't actually bleeding, they looked far from healthy.   
"You could have told me these were bothering you, _bouya_," I muttered as I set out fresh bandages.   
"It's not that bad," he lied, a slight blush rising in his cheeks.   
"I'm looking at them, _bouya_, so don't bother lying."   
"I don't want to be any trouble. . . ."   
"There's a difference between not being any trouble and just making things worse," I scolded gently. Another blush appeared, deeper than before and he said nothing as I finished my ministrations.   
"Next time, tell me, all right?"   
"_Hai_."   
I watched him settle in with his book, obviously taking care with his injured back. The book was one from my library, likely retrieved for him by one of the geisha, not that I minded. He needed something to keep himself occupied, certainly. I didn't _mind_ watching over him . . . but I wasn't his babysitter.   
We spent much of the afternoon in my enclosed sitting room, he with his book and I with a week's worth of mail and paperwork. I caught him watching me a handful of times, though he tried to pretend like he didn't care. His curiosity was only natural, the drive to know what sort of man could love his murderer. I knew better than to even try to explain that Muraki hadn't always been as he was now. . . .   
"Mibu-san?"   
"_Aa_," I offered distractedly; bills were coming due again and I was required to authorize all expenditures.   
"Are you really that worried that Cheisa-san would kick me out?"   
"_Aa_, not really. She knows better than to try, now that I've made it clear that you are to stay."   
"Then. . . ?"   
"Because," I said with a wry smile as I looked up from a sheaf of invoices, "my girls seem quite taken with you, the gorgeous boy with eyes like spring grass and hair of honey gold. In your current condition, I'm not sure you could survive them."   
His blush crept all the way up to his hairline and he quickly went back to his reading, though, as I watched him, I could see that he wasn't actually reading. To be made _shinigami_ at such a young age, forever sixteen. I could see in him the suggestions of the man he would have become, had he not been slain. _Bouya_ would have made a fine gentleman. . . .   
I had once more lost myself in a sea of numbers when his quiet voice reached me again.   
"Mibu-san?"   
"_Aa_?"   
"Do you . . . do you like what you do?"   
It was such an unexpected question that, for a minute, all I could do was gaze at him in bewilderment, my mind wandering off on a host of irrelevancies. I needed to ask Sonashi what she needed with ten pounds of truffles. It had to be fairly late in the afternoon, from the way the sunlight had captured _bouya_ and tinted his hair ruddy wheat. Muraki had far too much time on his hands if he was able to plot up a ridiculous gift like this for me. Tonaka and Seishu were both likely to quit if I didn't put in at least a few hours later tonight. Why _hadn't_ the other _shinigami_ found _bouya_ yet?   
"I . . . _gomennasai_," he stammered. "It's none of my business. I just . . . you're not at all what I expected for . . . for someone in your business."   
"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" I snapped, wincing inwardly at the harshness of my tone.   
"_Aa_ . . . _anou_ . . . it's . . . nothing. Nothing. _Gomennasai_."   
"Bon. . . ."   
"_Gomen_. I spoke out of turn. . . ."   
I watched the red that tinged his cheeks as he tried to hide in his reading once more. It had seemed such a random question, but perhaps I had misjudged. From his reaction, it seemed to be something he had been thinking about for some time. And in hind sight, I supposed that was only natural; again, the quest to understand his appointed caretaker.   
"Not always, but most days."   
"Huh?"   
"It's like any other job, _bouya_ - some days are better than others."   
"How . . . how can you say that? You sell people's _bodies_!"   
"I take girls in off the street, see they are educated, provide them with food, shelter, a safe work environment, and even a paycheck. As they earn enough money, they can move on with the skills they've learned, perhaps even marry and raise families. Or they can choose to stay here, to continue working for me."   
"You can make it sound pretty, but you run a brothel."   
"I manage a geisha house," I corrected sharply. "My girls are educated companions, not cheap whores. There is no shame in being a geisha!"   
". . . I'm sorry I ever brought it up. . . ."   
Had we become so westernized that our children were forgetting their own heritage? Or was _bouya_'s ignorance merely his own. Somehow, I suspected the former. . . . I pushed his indignation from my mind and went back to my paperwork.   
Heavy footsteps were all the warning we received before Sonashi charged into the room, dragging Kintaru in by his ear. _That_ boded no good. Kintaru's presence was a bit of a lark, though Sonashi would have likely termed it a grave mistake. I had run into him, figuratively speaking, during one of my shopping trips, selling himself for drug money. A momentary weakness and I found myself bringing him home with me. With Muraki's unwitting help - I quietly "forgot" to tell him the employee he was helping was male - I got him off the drugs and into a healthy lifestyle. He had cleaned up rather well, gladly accepting a job as a general maintenance worker and occasional companion for those whose tastes ran his way. Unfortunately, Kintaru had yet to shake his tendancy to have sticky fingers; more than one client had offered to have him beaten for me.   
"What did he take now?" I asked, making no effort to hide my annoyance as I set aside the last of my paperwork. _Bouya_ was wisely trying to make himself as small as possible, casting wary glances at the study in lividity that was Sonashi's face.   
"What _hasn't_ he taken?! Stealing from the house is one thing, but taking from the girls. . . ."   
"I didn't steal it! Seiya said I could have it!" he shouted in his defense. For reward, Sonashi twisted his ear until he yelped in pain.   
"And why would Seiya give _you_ anything?"   
"Why shouldn't she, _onibaba_!"   
Sonashi's face grew even angrier and for a moment I thought she was going to strangle him right there in front of me. As I had little interest in allowing that, I freed the teen from her grasp, being sure he understood that I was not pleased with him either.   
"All right, enough. Sonashi, I assume you have whatever he took. . . ."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she replied, fishing a watch out of her apron pocket. A man's watch with a plain face and a black leather band. It didn't look particularly valuable, but it was a strange thing for Seiya to have. Especially since I didn't remember Seiya thinking all that highly of Kintaru.   
"All this fuss over a watch?"   
"It's the principle of the thing!" she asserted defensively.   
"All right, all right. I'll deal with this. Tell Seiya I want to see her."   
"_Hai_, Owner."   
I was beginning to regret ever thinking it had been a quiet day. Something about the watch was tickling a memory, but I couldn't get it to surface. The way Kintaru was sulking, I was inclined to believe his story; when he actually stole things, he was more accepting of his punishment.   
"Mibu-san. . . ."   
_Bouya_. I'd all but forgotten he was still in the room. He had apparently succeeded in making himself invisible, given the way Kintaru nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. _Bouya_ was holding out his hand, as if he expected me to give him something. The watch. Well, why not. Crossing the room, I dropped the watch into his outstretched hand, surprised to see recognition almost immediately lighting his emerald eyes. His hands closed around the watch and he clutched it tight to his chest, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.   
"Tsuzuki. . . ."   
Was that why it had seemed familiar?   
"Kintaru, the truth. Where did you get that watch?"   
"I told you," he sulked, "Seiya gave it to me. You know I would never lie to you, _sensei_."   
I knew better than to believe he would _never_ lie to me . . . but I knew he wouldn't lie and call me _sensei_ at the same time. Nodding, I dismissed him. For a moment, he looked like he meant to ask about the watch, but it didn't take any great amount of intellect to see that he wasn't going to get it back.   
Once the teen was gone, _bouya_ relaxed his restraint, silent tears running down his cheeks. I sat beside him, there if he needed me, but I wasn't about to make any assumptions. Not when he was thinking about Tsuzuki-san. I am not _that_ great a fool.   
"I . . . I thought. . . . Tsuzuki gave it to me after . . . after the fire. He said it was so I could always have a . . . a part of him near me. I never took it off. When I woke up here without it . . . I was sure Muraki had it and that I'd never get it back again."   
"Then it is good you have the watch again. But . . . you already carry a peice of him with you, here," I murmured, brushing my fingers over his heart. Why did I feel like something precious had been lost to me?   
"Mibu-san, I --"   
"You wished to see me, Owner?"   
"Yes. I did."   
Before Seiya had taken more than three steps, I had recrossed the room to tower over her in obvious anger, holding her by the hair. Dark eyes immediately went wide with fear.   
"From Kintaru I tolerate more than I should because he's only been here a few months. But you . . . how dare you steal from my guest?"   
"From. . . ? _Sensei_, I swear, I didn't steal it! Muraki-san gave it to me! He . . . he told me to sell it, that I could keep the money. But . . . but Kin was moaning about wanting a watch so . . . so I gave it to him. I swear, _sensei_! _Onegai_ . . . you must believe me, _sensei_!"   
"Let her go, Mibu-san. _Onegai_ . . . she's telling the truth. . . ."   
The choked rasp in _bouya_'s voice was more than enough to squelch my anger and I released the girl. Her story sounded terribly convienent, but if he believed her. . . .   
"_Gomen_," she said to _bouya_, tears quivering in her voice. "If I'd known it was yours . . . _gomennasai_, _oniisan_."   
"It's . . . it's okay. Really."   
"Go on back, Seiya," I said, trying to calm her. "Tell Tonaka I'll try to give him a couple of hours tonight."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she said quietly, bowing to each of us before hurrying out of the room.   
I am a man of my word and so, after an early dinner and helping _bouya_ with his bath, I went up to the restaurant. One hour became two and I could tell that I would be needed even later than I had been the night before. Excusing myself momentarily, I went back to explain to the boy, surprised to find him half asleep.   
"_Saa_, bedtime, _bouya_," I said as a picked him up and started for my bedroom.   
"You too?" he asked with a yawn.   
"_Gomen_, but I have to work, Bon. But you'll be all right on your own for a few hours, _hai_?"   
"_Hai_. Lonely, but . . . business first."   
I was rather surprised at that, not entirely sure what to make of it. Writing it off as him simply being tired, I settled him into my bed and thought nothing more of it. 


	4. IV: Ko Kaku Rou

  
**Author's Note:** I'll be addressing some specific review questions at the end, if only to keep the notes above the fold short. ~_^ See how nice I am? And since FF.net is consistantly 6-12 hours behind in actually posting file updates, I'll be noting new additions in my deadjournal (user: spinshadow).   
Other than that, I don't think I have any other pressing notes for this section. Just a general "please trust me" plea; it occurried to me after the last day that I'm used to writing for an audience that knows to trust my weirdness. But more on that in the end notes!   
**Warnings:** Angst and Muraki being an assmonkey. Well, okay, so he's actually behaving this time. Someone call Guiness.... ¬_¬   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The only things I claim are the original characters and the plot.   
**Language Note:** _hato_ = dove   
  


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**Lost in Jade**   
_IV. Ko Kaku Rou_

  
Another grey morning, damp and dreary with the promise of rain. And far too early, considering it had been 2am when I was finally allowed to sleep. Just past 6am now. Why was I awake?   
A low moan answered that question. I sat up, straining to see in the grey light of pre-dawn. _Bouya_ was caught in the clutches of another nightmare, flailing against the clinging linens. I snapped up my dressing robe, hurrying across night-chilled floorboards to his bedside. The thin light from the open windows silvered his disheveled hair, making him appear even paler as his motions grew even more frantic.   
"_Bouya_? _Saa_, wake up, Bon. It's only a dream. . . ."   
His eyes suddenly flew open as I gently touched his shoulder, wild with terror. I wasn't sure he realized where he was, but he buried his head against my chest anyway.   
"Shh, it's all right, _bouya_. It was only a dream," I repeated, gently holding him.   
"No, it was real. . . ."   
"A past memory?"   
"Why? Why can't you see how evil he is?"   
"_Anou_ . . . it is my curse, I suppose. Try to go back to sleep. . . ."   
He pulled away clumsily, as though he didn't really want me to leave, but didn't want to admit to it either. I rearranged his linens so they no longer entangled him, ruffling his hair with a gentle smile before retreating to the other futon.   
I laid there for awhile, staring up at my ceiling and knowing that it was pointless. I was awake; there was nothing for it but to accept that fact and move foward. Still I laid there, dumbly fascinated by the play of shadow and light across the ceiling tiles. Wrapped in a strange reluctance to move, I instead watched the silver grey of predawn tint softly pink as the sun edged up over the horizon. A chorus of birds were greeting the new day from their perches in the trees around my home, a cheerful cacophony. Glancing at my clock, I sighed to myself. 7am. Past time for me to be up and about. Sonashi would not hold my breakfast forever, particularly since it being Saturday meant she would need to make the weekly trip into the city herself. We led a quiet life of simple routines at the Ko Kaku Rou, but _bouya_'s arrival had rather disrupted all of that.   
Bon bolted upright, this time without warning. As I sat up to watch him, he clutched his left wrist tightly, holding it close to his chest and panting. He scanned the room, near frantic in his search for something, then froze as he caught me watching him.   
"Y-you . . . no. . . . No!"   
"_Bouya_?"   
"Why can't I go home?" he whimpered, collapsing in on himself. Not for the first time I wished I had some way of contacting the other _shinigami_. Something short of masterminding heinous murders; that would doubtlessly draw their attention, but not in the way I wanted. Nor in a way with which I was comfortable. Making rivals disappear was one thing, but killing innocents. . . . No, that had always been Muraki's area.   
Muraki. What was that bastard planning? A part of me was quite certain I didn't really want to know. Whatever faults he possessed, Kazutaka was brilliant, with a gift for intricate planning; only he ever fully understood what he was doing and why.   
"Why?! Why is he doing this to me!"   
"Because you are a threat to him, _bouya_. If he kills you outright, Tsuzuki-san will never forgive him. So he found another way to take you out of the picture."   
"By bringing me here? How can you be so calm??"   
"Because anger accomplishes nothing," I replied, rising to walk over to my dressing table. I had kept his _ofuda_ from him because I had not wanted to risk that they would still work and that he would use them against me. I could see now that I had acted quite selfishly. Retrieving the small stack of _ofuda_ strips, I returned to his side, holding them out to him.   
"Perhaps these will not work either, but. . . ."   
"_Doumo_," he murmured, thumbing through them quickly before selecting one. Spell or prayer, whatever he was trying to do with the small slip of charmed paper, I could tell it hadn't worked when the light of hope went out of his eyes. He tried again, but there was a sad sort of resignation about him when it failed again. He tried a third time and this time the paper folded itself into a small bird, then came to life. He blinked in surprise as the creature perched on his hand, cooing up at him inquisitively before running her beak through her white tail feathers.   
"It . . . it worked!"   
"I am glad for you, _bouya_. Perhaps you are starting to recover your magic?"   
"I . . . I don't know," he replied, studying the bird in surprise. As if he had never summoned one before.   
"What now?"   
"Oh . . . I suppose I should tell her what to do, _ne_?" he chuckled self-consciously. "_Hato-chan_, find Tsuzuki-san and bring him back here. _Yoshi_?"   
The little bird chirped in what could only be an affirmative, fluttering her wings against his fingers for a moment before taking to the air. She circled his head once, cooed an avian reassurance, then flew out the window, a spot of white quickly lost against the light grey of the rising mists.   
"How long do you think it will take?"   
"I don't know. I suppose it depends on where he is. I'm really not sure how fast she can fly," he replied with an uneasy shrug. "It'll be all day at least, anyway . . . unless he's already here in Kyoto. . . ."   
"Then a last day to enjoy the peaceful sanctuary I offer. . . ."   
What had possessed me to say such a thing? He seemed surprised as well, looking up at me with curious eyes. I avoided his questioning gaze, retreating to my wardrobe and feigning absorption in choosing a _kimono_. It wasn't such an implausible thought, given the size of my wardrobe, but inasmuch as _bouya_ was an empath. . . .   
A soft scratching at the door forestalled the need for me to say anything, the screen sliding open to admit Seiya and our breakfast. I frowned as I watched the almost waif-ish girl shuffle across the room to the side table. I had worked all night and only seen her once, early; Kira, her roommate, had said she was already asleep when I made my final rounds. With raven hair nearly as long as my own and almost flawless porcelain skin, Seiya had blossomed under my care into a beautiful young woman. She had a measure of pride in her beauty that was rare in girls taken from the streets, always careful of her appearance now that she was able to attend herself properly. So it was unusual to see her hiding her face behind a curtain of shimmering black, to say nothing of the soft butter-rum and caramel _kimono_ that would let her fade into the background of any room.   
"Seiya?"   
"_Gomen_, Owner, but Sonashi-_okaasan_ couldn't wait any longer. She's gone downtown for the day," she said quietly, never once lifting her head. I tried to intercept her before she slipped out of the room, but _bouya_'s arm suddenly barred my way. Surprised, I watched him walk over to her with wobbly steps while she sat frozen, like a rabbit hypnotized by a cobra. He paused a moment as he stood over her, as if gathering his strength, then brushed the fallen locks back over her shoulder. Seiya flinched away from his touch, turning her head aside in an effort to hide once more, but not before I saw the dark bruises that discolored her face.   
"You were saying something about a safe workplace?" he murmured as he turned and settled at the side table, but despite his words, there was a deep sadness in his tone.   
"Again? Seiya, what have I told you?"   
"_Onegai, sensei_ . . . it was my fault. I was stupid and clumsy and. . . ."   
"And nothing. You are not paid to be abused."   
She kept her head bowed, letting her hair cover her face again. Waiting for me to dismiss her. Well, she could wait awhile longer. I sorted through my makeshift pharmacopeia, peripherally aware that I was being watched. When I found the jar I wanted, I walked back over to where Seiya was still kneeling and sat down beside her. I could see her glancing at me through lowered lashes, worried. Sighing, I opened the jar, then brushed her fine hair out of the way once more. Seiya flinched again, but this time she didn't turn away. _Bouya_ was watching me with covert curiosity and I wondered if his presence hadn't pricked at Seiya's pride.   
"This will ease the swelling," I explained as I carefully dabbed the salve over her bruises. "And you have the day free. Who did Sonashi take with her?"   
"Shinji and Nyassa," she replied quietly, wincing slightly even with my lightest touch.   
"_Aa_. Tell Kira I'd like to see her later today. When she has some free time."   
"_Hai_, Owner."   
"And if those bruises aren't better by tonight, come to me."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she repeated, bowing her head before slipping out of the room.   
"What, do you keep a pharmacy in your room?" _bouya_ asked incredulously as I cleaned up from my impromptu first aid session.   
"It has proven useful," I said noncommittally, settling across the table from my guest.   
"You are a very strange man, Mibu-san. . . ."   
"So I've been told. . . ."   
With Shinji gone for the day, my usual routine had been disrupted even further. If his summoned bird did it's job as _bouya_ expected, this would be the last I would see of him, perhaps forever. But why should that matter? I should have been glad at the prospect of being rid of him, at no longer having to attend the needs of an injured brat who questioned everything and respected little. I should have been relieved at the knowledge that soon I would be able to return to my normal life, such as it was. Instead I could only think that it was unfortunate I had never had an opportunity to show him the true beauty of the sword. Unfortunate that _bouya_ would not be able to finish his healing in the calm sanctuary of my home.   
If this was not Kazutaka's doing, then surely I was losing my mind. . . .   
Despite the fact that I had been bathing him since he arrived, _bouya_ insisted he was strong enough to do it himself. Who was I to argue? He wanted his privacy and even insisted on walking down to the bathhouse under his own power.   
I stood in my doorway, _haori_ loosely draped about my shoulders as I watched his slow progress while feigning interest in the courtyard beyond the covered walk. The mist was slow to fade, wisps of moisture that ghosted around the _sakura_ and maple, bejewelled a spider's web, cast an even greater distance between us and the restaurant above, and chilled the air to less comfortable temperatures. There would be more rain today, slow, ponderous showers that would discourage most from venturing beyond their doors. A good day for quiet companionship.   
It was actually raining by the time _bouya_ stepped out of the bathhouse, hurrying under the covered walk with shaking steps. His progress was no faster than it had been earlier and he was shivering by the time he reached me despite the lined _kimono_ he wore. His hair was still damp and his teeth chattered.   
"Stubborn child," I murmured, wrapping my _haori_ around his shoulders before drawing him back into my room.   
"Not a . . . child," he protested between shivers.   
"Perhaps not, but stubborn regardless. What possessed you to come back with a wet head?"   
He snorted, pulling away to sit at the side table, still shivering. That he was ignoring my question only made me more curious.   
"You _are_ a hopeless case," I murmured as I rang the call-bell. "Ask for a pot of tea. Do you play chess?"   
"A little . . . and not very well. Tatsumi-san is teaching me. I . . . didn't have much chance to learn before. . . ."   
"Ask for my chess set as well then," I said as I selected a lined _kimono_ for myself. "And if there's anything else you need or want, ask for that as well. I'll be back shortly."   
"Y-you're leaving?"   
"I can't very well bathe in here, _bouya_," I replied, smiling. He flushed bright red as he became intensely interested in the remnants of our breakfast.   
The rain was our near-constant companion, though it varied greatly in its intensity, fading to a vague misting at times before resuming a harsher fall. As the evening closed in around another game of chess, _bouya_ became increasingly anxious, watching the door expectantly. The hour grew steadily later, dinner came and went, and still no sign of the other _shinigami_.   
"Perhaps you underestimated how long it would take the bird to find your partner?"   
"I . . . I guess so. Not like I've ever done this before," he grumbled, clearly irritated with the situation.   
"I'm sure he'll come for you as soon as he can," I found myself saying, not sure where the words came from except a quiet need to reassure the boy.   
"I guess," he sighed, turning his king on it's side. "It's been a long day. I . . . I think I'd like to get some sleep now."   
"As you wish," I murmured as I rose to my feet, slipping my pipe into my sleeve. "If you need anything. . . ."   
"_Hai, hai_, I know, Mibu-san."   
"Sleep well, _bouya_. There is always tomorrow."   
"_Arigatou_, Mibu-san."   
_He_ was waiting as I walked down the passageway towards my private garden, lurking in the shadows. I don't know how long he had been waiting for me, but I knew he was the _last_ person I wanted to see that night. Not that I was under any illusion thinking my wishes ever figured into his plans. He did what he wanted when he wanted, with no thought to how his actions would impact me. Bastard.   
"Get out of my house, Kazutaka."   
"Is that any way to greet an old friend, Oriya? What do you think of my gift?"   
"You're trying to distract me, aren't you?" I accused in a dark hiss. I wanted him _gone_.   
"I thought you would appreciate him. Certainly, he is of more use to you than to me in his current state."   
"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"   
"He really is better for you than I, old friend," Muraki said in a quiet avoidance, gazing up at the moon. I was actually surprised to see how much the sky had cleared, only a few strands of clouds obscuring the sky.   
"He is a gift more expensive to maintain than his worth."   
"Is he? Hmm, perhaps I made a slight error in judgement. Yes, yes, I see it now," he chuckled as he studied me. "My mistake, underestimating his expenses. Here, this should more than cover the trouble he's been."   
"I don't want your money," I growled, letting the purse drop to the ground. "I want your _absence_. Now."   
"And what will you do if I refuse? No sword with you tonight, Oriya. . . ."   
"You think I can't make you leave without one?"   
"No matter; I wasn't staying long anyway," he replied with a smug grin.   
"Then go. And don't come back."   
"Now surely you don't mean that. . . ."   
"I've had it with your games, Muraki. I'm tired of picking up after you, only to be shoved aside for your latest pet project. This is the last time."   
"You'll miss me when I'm gone," Muraki promised. "Enjoy your evening."   
I snorted, watching him walk away into the night. But I knew he was right; I _would_ miss him. As I had told _bouya_, it was my curse, to forever love a man I could never hope to possess. To long for him until I felt it would drive me mad. And then he would appear out of the night like some wraith, offering just enough hope to make me hurt all the more when he left again.   
I stayed out in my garden for hours, staring out at the ghostly shapes touched with the silver light of the nearly full moon. The night was chilled, but I welcomed it, embracing the coldness, trying to make it a part of myself. I didn't want to feel anything. Not the worry for _bouya_, not the annoyance with Muraki, and especially not the longing for something I couldn't define.   
"_Oya_, still out here, _niisan_?"   
"Is there something you want, Cheisa?"   
"To see you properly wed and settled, without that man in your life."   
"Cheisa. . . ."   
"He's destroying your spirit, one peice at a time, Oriya," she sighed, briefly resting one hand on my arm. "Do you think I don't know? I've known you for too many years now. . . ."   
"It's not that easy," I sighed, still gazing out at my garden.   
"Why not? Find a good girl, marry her, and be done with it."   
"It's not that easy," I repeated in a quiet whisper. Cheisa had never understood what bound me to Muraki; I had no illusions that she would start now. I wanted only for her to leave me alone, to allow me to freeze my heart in peace.   
"No one is asking you to love your wife," she sighed. "Keep the boy if he pleases you, but please, _niisan_ . . . don't let it end this way. . . ."   
"You don't know nearly as much as you think, Cheisa. . . ."   
"Perhaps I know more than you think, _niisan_," she replied quietly, dark eyes suddenly sharp in the moonlight. Anger in those eyes as she glared at me a moment longer, then spun away. Her words like a trigger had sent fragmented images of _bouya_ merrily skittering behind my eyes, reminding me how fragile he still was, how much he still needed to heal.   
Damn you, Muraki.   
  


* * *

  
_End Notes_   
As promised, notes to specific reviewers. But first, a general thank you to everyone who's reviewed. Even a "wow, you rock" is helpful. ^_^   
  
**Mason-san**: Ironic that I'd actually uploaded the third chapter some four hours prior to your review. Naughty FF.net for not updating the story sooner. So I wasn't ignoring your review, honest! Thank you for reminding me to add detail - I'm terrible about forgetting that in fanfiction, particularly when I'm writing in first person. Especially in a situation like this, where the speaker doesn't think about those sorts of details very often because he's lived there his whole life. ^_^; Also, if it sets your mind at ease at all, I _am_ familiar with the three classic reactions to the sorts of things Hisoka's suffered (withdrawal, acceptance, and overcompensation, to summarize ~_^). If this ever gets to even a grapefruit level, well, that's more than I'm expecting right now. As I noted in the beginning of this, I've gotten used to writing for an audience who knows me and knows to trust that I'm not being capricious or careless with the characters. My bad, as they say.   
  
* All right all you OxH fans, get your crying done now. Won't change anything; this still won't be a lemon or a lime. Hisoka's mind just doesn't work that way, not in my writings anyway. Maybe in a few _years_. . . . *   
  
**kireira:** Because I don't want to make a false promise (the last time I promised to explain something in a later chapter, it never happened >_o), I'll go ahead and explain here. Hisoka's discomfort comes partially from being devalued and treated like a monster by his parents, partially from being treated like a living doll by Muraki, and maybe a little bit from his own struggles to feel like he's worth something. The notion of selling people just doesn't sit right with him.   
  
**Wolf:** Was this soon enough? Hopefully this chapter showed that Hisoka hasn't really changed all that much. As for the other _shinigami_ . . . there is indeed a reason for why they haven't come, but since this fic isn't set up to handle perspectives other than Oriya and Hisoka, it'll have to be explained in a companion fic. Not that I really needed any more, mind, but... _*shrug*_ THAT fic will get posted, um, when I get it finished? Or as I finish chapters, I suppose.   
  
Thanks again to all my readers. Until next time,   
~ Selah 


	5. V: True Colors

  
**Author's Note:** Just when you thought I was _never_ going to get around to writing the next chapter. . . . But this is it for awhile, I mean it! I'm moving halfway across the country, I don't have time for writing fics! Not that I'm likely to stop writing even while we're moving. -_-;   
Oh yeah, comments to reviewers are at the end, as usual. If you haven't been following with "Black Dove," don't worry about it - it's not critical to read these fics side by side. Well, unless you're, like, massively impatient or something. ~_^   
**Warnings:** Insane amounts of angst, cutter!Hisoka, blood (kinda), angst, ornery!Oriya, spoilers for Kyoto (well, duh), more angst, and use/abuse of empathic abilities. Oh yeah, and did I mention the ANGST? ~_^ Yeesh, if this keeps up, I'll have to recategorize this fic yet again.   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The plot is definitely mine, though. I mean, really, who else would do this sort of thing?   
  


* * *

  


**Lost in Jade**   
_V. True Colors_

  
The distant chiming of bells confirmed what I had already suspected: not only was I awake, but it was Sunday. I had already spent four days at the Ko Kaku Rou, and in my heart, I feared I would not be leaving this day either, though I wasn't sure why. Just a feeling. One I was desperately wishing I could make go away. I wanted to go home.   
The room was empty as I pulled myself upright. I could feel Mibu-san's presense all over the room, but it was the muted feel I sometimes get from objects that a person has owned and treasured their entire lives. It was strange to think that Mibu-san had several such objects in his room, but then he was a strange individual. I stretched my senses carefully outward, but I wasn't being watched. My caretaker was likely down at the bathhouse and there was no one in the immediate circle of rooms or the garden beyond the door.   
Mibu-san had been watching me so closely the last two days that I hadn't been able to check my blood. The bandages were nearly all gone, except for light dressings on my back, as even the deeper slashes began to heal. I felt stronger than I had, but the sureness of my own magical power was still absent. I needed to know the truth.   
My hands were trembling by the time I reached the otherwise unadorned wall where he kept his most prized katana. I pulled the slender blade from its sheath and hesitated. I still wasn't healing properly; if I did this badly, could I bleed to death? His sword was sharper than a surgeon's scalpel; it would slice me to the bone if I wasn't careful. But I needed to know. Compromising with myself, I ran my palm across the very tip, a small and shallow cut.   
The sword dropped with a clatter against the honey-oak floorboards, but I barely heard it. I was too fixated on my palm, horror rising as not even a pinhead of red appeared in the cut I'd made. No pain, no blood, yet there should have been both. The sting of the incision, the immediate welling up of bright crimson . . . but no, there was nothing. As if I had done nothing at all.   
I stooped to the sword, wrapping my injured hand around the shining blade in masochistic fascination. This time I felt the steel's bite into my flesh, but still the blood refused to rise. Never before in my life had I longed to see that crimson tide, but I felt that longing now. Oh please EnmaDaioh, by all that's holy, let me _bleed_!   
And then it came, sluggish trails of _suou_ gel, dark and unnatural. Slow lines of rust that crawled down my fingers, seeped across my palm. Like a rabbit hypnotized by a cobra, I watched the oily trails of what I shuddered to call my blood flowing sluggishly from the self-inflicted wounds. It hadn't changed at all in the last two days. If anything, it looked darker than before, more alien and sinister.   
I was trembling, the sound of approaching _geta_ finally registering only a moment before they stopped. But even the sound of the door sliding open did nothing to shake me from my half-trance; the sludge that was my blood was still oozing trails down to my elbow, a tiny pool collecting on the tatami mat.   
"_BOUYA_! _Shimatta_ . . . what do you think you're doing??"   
"I . . . _gomen_, Mibu-san, _demo_ . . . I had to know. . . ."   
"Know what? That you're still not healing? I should think that to be rather obvious," he muttered as he rummaged through his pharmacy cabinet. His anger battered against my shields, threatening to break them into nothingness. His temper twisted at me, a situation that was not improved when he sat before me with a rustle of heavy silk.   
"I. . . ."   
"You what? Foolish child . . . what am I supposed to do with you?" he demanded as he carefully wiped off the excess blood . . . blood that was still slowly welling up from the dozen slices in my hand. For a moment I thought I might be sick, nausea threatening to expell what little food, if any, remained in my stomache.   
"Easy, _bouya_. Close your eyes if it helps," Mibu-san murmured, his anger suddenly dissipating like morning mist before the sun. Still, I couldn't look away, watching entranced as he carefully bandaged my trembling hand.   
"I . . . I had to . . . to see if it had changed. . . ."   
"Now you see it hasn't," he said softly, trailing the wrappings past my wrist. "Don't do this again, _daijoubu_?"   
"_H-hai_," I whispered, knowing full well I had no intension of obeying that request. It wasn't logical or sensible, but watching that _suou_ flow . . . I hadn't been able to stop it. The way it defied all the principles of biology that I had learned, the slick feeling as it crawled across my skin. Finally, an outward expression of the stains I carried on my soul.   
"Promise me, _bouya_," he whispered, a strange urgency in his voice, a desperation to protect that I couldn't understand. I was nothing to him, so why should he care? But his intense eyes bore into my own, commanding a sacred oath while refusing to be denied. I knew I couldn't make that promise, couldn't say anything while those dark eyes held me in thrall. I forced myself to look away, acquiring a sudden and intense fascination with the wall hanging beyond Mibu-san's shoulder, an artful painting of a crane rising into the mist.   
"_Bouya_ . . . promise me you won't do this again. Or must I remove all knives from your surroundings now?"   
My silence and my refusal to meet his gaze said more than words ever could as I studied the room, desparate to fixate on anything but the man before me. The walls were a pale wash of eggshell, unadorned save for the wall hanging, their bland color interrupted by the bands of black wood that marked out each segment and the very furnishings that gave the room it's aura of Mibu-san's presense even when the man wasn't present. The stark contrast of decorative rice paper screens in black and white. The warmth of the dark cherry wardrobe in exile in the far corner with it's matching dressing table and the cabinet that was secretly a pharmacopeia. The sidetable that had served us well in the past few days, it's glass top obscured by a stack of books and the newspaper from the day before. The two futons, Mibu-san's larger permanent bed still rumpled from my night's sleep while the smaller one he was using for himself was already rolled and stored for the day, a blue round hiding beside the wardrobe.   
"You delight in making trouble for me, don't you?" the man murmured, but despite the annoyance in his tone, there was an undercurrent of worry that flowed clearly from Mibu-san's otherwise quiescent mind. As before, his emotions confused me, so infused with a warmth of which even he seemed unaware. And something else, something transient yet persistent in it's recurrence in his emotions. A desire for something, but what remained unclear.   
"_Bouya_? Silence does not become you. . . ."   
"He should have found me by now. Why do I feel so dead inside?"   
I hadn't meant to speak at all, and certainly I hadn't intended to say that. Not that the confession by itself mattered much, considering I had already as much as admitted that I would cut myself again if given the chance. The bite of steel, the flow of blood . . . it was almost like being alive again, only better because this time _I_ controlled the pain.   
"You sent your messenger, _bouya_. He will come for you as soon as he can."   
He was trying to reassure me, I know, but his words were transparent to my empathy. While he wanted me to be happy, I was shocked to realize that Mibu-san also wanted me to stay. Was this the desire that had been lurking so long? Part of it, perhaps, but not all.   
Our routines were scant comfort as the day grew progressively longer. Mibu-san watched me with a mix of worry and frustration, knowing what I wanted to do yet unsure how to terminate, or at least curb, that desire. And I had nothing to tell him. Perhaps when Tsuzuki came . . . but I could almost feel my palms itching with need as I spent another morning watching him with his student. A need that did not ease under his watchful gaze through the lingering afternoon.   
"You take nothing from me, _bouya_. Not even the peaceful sanctuary my home provides. Am I still so loathsome in your sight?"   
"Should I see you as anything but a reminder of what I have suffered?" I demanded harshly, lashing out the only way I could at the only target I could reach.   
"In five days, have I not proven that I am nothing like him? Have I not shown that I am, in truth, his opposite?"   
"As if that matters!" I growled. "You would have killed me for him! Why should I trust you?!"   
"Why indeed," Mibu-san said in suddenly icy tones. Dread clawed at me as I felt the anger that threatened to spill out into violence, held in check by an iron control I could barely comprehend. He drew his _haori_ about his shoulders and stalked out of his office where we had taken refuge from the rains. He wanted me to think he had gone, but I could still sense him outside the room, doubtlessly staring out at the courtyard. From the feel of his mind, he was still battling against his anger, arguing with himself though I didn't understand why.   
It wasn't until I pulled back from his mind that I saw it lying on his desk: a small _tanto_ blade. Was the whole world mad? After spending a whole day watching, making certain I had no chance at this, he left me alone with a blade? Even if it were dull, he had to know I would use it.   
I didn't even remember picking it up, let alone crossing the room to his desk. It had been well kept, the blade sharp and as deadly as any in Mibu-san's collection . . . in the right hands. Not that I honestly believed I could kill myself, nor did I truly wish to do so, but. . . .   
The bite of steel brought a small smile to my mouth, one quickly lost when a shadow fell across me. I cursed myself for a fool for not realizing Mibu-san had returned, waiting for an angry explosion that didn't come. Instead I could only feel calm detachment as I watched for the slow ooze to rise from my slashed wrist. **  
**"So this is what he has finally done to you, _bouya_. . . ."   
His hand clamped down on my wrist, covering the gash and breaking the temporary trance of _suou_. With practiced efficiency, he slid the _tanto_ into his _obi_, then rebandaged my wrist with a deft yet gentle touch.   
"You knew?" I asked, but even though he remained silent, he didn't need to say anything. "Why?"   
"Why leave the blade? To see how serious you were. I am a man of little consequence in this world; if you truly wish to die then who am I to stop you?"   
"If that were true, you wouldn't've come back," I muttered, annoyed at him for disrupting me.   
"It is true. . . ."   
_. . . though I wish it could be otherwise_, Mibu-san continued silently, his thoughts pouring into the empty silence between us. Which made no sense to me and from the look of him, the desire didn't really make sense to him either.   
"I am no one of consequence, _bouya_, but I will not stand passive when you have no cause to die again."   
"As if you care," I snapped, verbally pushing him away again. It was the only defense I had, the only way I knew to regain the space I needed from him. Too bad it rarely worked.   
"Perhaps not," he conceded with that faint smile that did more to take the wind out of my sails than any anger. "Perhaps I only pretend to care because I do not wish to be killed should your friends find you a corpse."   
"Bastard."   
"Merely enlightened self-interest," he murmured, brushing aside a stray lock of my hair. "But truly you are too beautiful to simply die."   
Strange, but I could feel myself disassociating as burning rage consumed me. Those words . . . that was what Muraki had said that night. Too beautiful to simply kill. Like an observer in my own body, I watched myself grab the _tanto_ out of Mibu-san's _obi_, slashing upwards as I did so. Anger rushed through me, giving me a burst of speed and strength I wouldn't have otherwise possessed. The blade sliced through layered silk but the motion was arrested before I could reach skin as Mibu-san's years of warrior training reacted to the threat I presented. I fought against him, desperate to summon the protective magic I had unleashed in the past, but it refused to surface. And then I was disarmed, face planted firmly against the tatami mat.   
"Have you still not learned such a basic lesson, _bouya_? _Never_ attack in anger."   
"Release me!"   
"The only one holding you here is you," he replied placidly, the pressure abruptly released from my shoulders. "If you're strong enough to fight me, then you're strong enough to leave."   
But it wasn't true - all my strength had come from the sheer rage at his words. Without real strength off of which to feed - and with Mibu-san's success at proving his superiority once more - the rage was dying, leaving me lifeless and weak once more. I felt weaker than I had since awakening in Mibu-san's care, unable to even roll over. Confusion rolled through me, his confusion, and it took all my strength just to moan softly at the psychic assault of his emotions. Confusion, anger, annoyance with me, irritation with himself, and others more ethereal, all pouring into me.   
"_Oya_, Bon, up with you."   
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to find the strength to move. It was a vain effort as I couldn't even find the strength to speak to him, to yell at him to leave me alone. And though I tried to stop them, traitorous tears of frustration gathered at the corners of my eyes. It was wretchedly unfair; I was stronger than this! What had that bastard Muraki done to me to kill even the flame of my magic? He was probably laughing at me, pleased with his ability to make me forget everything he had done from the time he'd kidnapped me.   
Fresh anger surged through me at that thought, though it wasn't nearly enough to grant me the strength of the last one. Why make me forget everything? With no memory of even being kidnapped, with a blank space from that time until I woke up in Mibu-san's bed, all I had were the nightmares, twisted replays of what he had done before. They were torture enough, as far as I was concerned, but Muraki had never before been so easily satisfied. Why hold me so long only to give me to Mibu-san? How had he changed my blood? Why hadn't Tsuzuki found me? What was taking that messenger so long? And why couldn't Mibu-san keep his damn emotions to himself?!   
"Up, _bouya_!"   
"You think . . . I'd still be here . . . if I could leave?"   
"You were strong enough to attack me a moment ago. I have no use for guests who are so discourteous."   
A bitter bark of a laugh coughed out of me as a stared at the tatami in front of my face. There it was, the arrogance I remembered from that night, six months ago, washing over me and mingling with my own pride, my own venom. Mibu-san may call himself a man of no importance, but he had all the arrogance of one born to the imperial court. I fed on that arrogance, forcing myself to roll over so I could scowl up at his perfect face. A man his age and his profession had no right to such a perfect face.   
"And it doesn't strike you that I haven't moved since?" I snapped, letting loose the full of my venom on the man.   
"Get out of my house!"   
"Gladly! Just give me a good toss! Maybe then I can get out of that bastard's damping field or whatever the hell it is he's done to this place to keep Tsuzuki from finding me!"   
He stopped short at that, and I felt uncomfortably vulnerable under that intense gaze. The raggedly disrupted drape of his _kimono_ did nothing to help that, the angling slash hanging open to expose the bare chest beneath as he stood over me, arms akimbo.   
"You have less sense than a drunken gutter snape!" he growled at last, his glare softening as he offered me a hand up. "What possessed you to attack?"   
I hesitated, afraid of what new rush of emotions would pour into me if I took his hand. Then again, his emotions were already coursing through me; accepting the help couldn't make things any worse. He pulled me to my feet with annoying ease, still waiting for an answer to his question. I focused on a lacquered tray to keep from meeting those dark eyes.   
"He said that. That night, under the _sakura_. He said I was too beautiful to simply kill. He always calls me that: his beautiful doll. . . ."   
"_Aa_, _bouya_ . . . _gomen_. I didn't know. . . ."   
"No, of course you didn't," I sighed, momentarily surprised at the sudden change in my mood. And then I realized he was still holding my arm, contrition and calm pouring into me from the physical contact to the point that it was overwriting my own emotions and responses.   
"Forgive me?"   
"I . . . it's not your fault. . . ."   
There was something more he wanted to say, but the desire was so nebulous that even with the physical contact between us, I couldn't understand it. And then the delicate thread between us snapped as he released my forearm.   
"Can you walk on your own?"   
"Only one way to find out," I grumbled as I struggled to regain my emotional equilibrium without his calm forcing itself onto me.   
Progress from the office back to the bedroom was slow, but I refused to lean on him. And there was no reason to hurry. Two days with no sign of the dove or Tsuzuki and I was only that much more convinced that Muraki had done something to shield the whole compound. Worse, I was beginning to worry if the tracking dove would even be able to find me again; I didn't understand how the magic worked and so had no way of knowing if or how it would be affected by the magic that was keeping me hidden. And then there was the _suou_ sludge that had replaced my blood. . . .   
I stopped to stare out at the night-darkened courtyard, the colors of spring washed out to dull greys and blues. There was something I was missing, something more than just the fact that I couldn't remember Muraki holding me captive at all. Something that would explain why he would even bother with everything he had done. He was a madman, yes, but there was usually _some_ logic to the things he did, _some_ underlying reason. But this time the reasoning eluded me.   
"If you're too tired to continue. . . ."   
"I'm fine!" I snapped, pushing off the wall to continue my slow shambling pace down the passageway. Mibu-san sighed with a patience that was both comforting and irritating.   
The final distance, from the door to the futon, suddenly loomed large before me as I stopped at the room's threshold. Before I had always at least trailed my fingertips against the wall, comforted by the building's solid presence, should I need it. And often I had. But there was nothing like that in the space that yawned before me now and my recovering sense of ego refused to ask or even accept Mibu-san's aid. No matter that, after only three steps, I feared I would collapse where I stood. Ten more steps and then I could collapse with the cushioning of the bed to break my fall. I would make it on my own, I didn't need help.   
Another three steps and despite my stubborn intensions, I had to stop, to pause and hope that by doing so I would recover the strength to finish the course. From the way the room was swaying slightly, I did not have much confidence in my plan.   
"Stubborn child," he murmured, a steadying hand suddenly at my elbow. "Must you do everything the hard way?"   
"I'm _fine_," I muttered, but this time he didn't release me. A gentle nudge and my feet betrayed me, carrying me forward to his bed. With his signature silent care, he helped me out of my _kimono_ and into proper sleepwear, pausing for me to lay down before drawing the bedsheets up to my shoulders.   
"Sleep well, _bouya_. There is always tomorrow."   
"That's what you said last night," I replied peevishly.   
"And it is still true, _bouya_. Now sleep."   
I watched him turn down the lights before walking out of the room and some perverse part of me wanted to stay awake until he came back, just to prove he couldn't order me about. But I could not deny that I was exhausted.   
_Find me soon, Tsuzuki_, I thought fervently. _I want to go home_.   
  


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_End Notes_   
As promised, notes to specific reviewers. But first, a general thank you to everyone who's reviewed. Every reading, every review, helps me gauge where to focus my attention when it comes time to work on the hordes of stories running around my creative workspace. Ahh, if only all fandoms were as encouraging as this one. Then again, you guys would have to wait even _longer_ for updates if that was the case. ~_^   
  
**Lisette**: To the first question (on Hisoka's healing), ah, well, that's an ongoing mystery. As for the second, if you haven't yet, I suggest checking out "Black Dove," which is approaching this little crisis from the Meifu angle. ^_^   
  
**Kage**: The first time I saw your review, I had to laugh...something about your declaration that I have a fic, I suppose. ~_^ I can't help but wonder why that seems so . . . exclamation-point-worthy.   
  
**Oreo**: RICE! _*ahem*_ I'm working on that description thing, honest. See? First-person and I are still dancing around each other in terms of my actually getting setting described properly. As for the larger circumstances . . . well, you know how I am by now - evil as possible. Remember, everything you think you know is wrong. ~_^ 


	6. VI: What Is Left Behind

  
**Author's Note:** I know, it's been quite awhile. There were several items I wanted to release at once. Think of this as another contribution to the campaign for increased hotsexay Oriya lovins. ^_^   
**Warnings:** OriyaxHisoka, more Oriya backstory made up on the spot, return of the revenge of the OCs   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The plot is definitely mine, though. I mean, really, who else would do this sort of thing? Okay, don't answer that...   
  


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**Lost in Jade**   
_VI. What Is Left Behind_

  
I really had to stop waking up before six. If nothing else, it was getting rather tiring, even if the sunrises were soothing to the soul. Unfortunate it was that _bouya_ seemed not to be benefiting from the peaceful sanctuary I offered. He was physically stronger than he had been when Muraki first brought him to me, it was true, but his spirit was still very weak. And that, in turn, was interfering with his recovery.   
Sleep continued to elude me and so I made ready to face the day. Perhaps _bouya_'s partner would finally arrive and take him back to Meifu. For reasons I dared not explore, it wasn't what I wanted. But whatever Muraki had done, I could not undo it. All other considerations aside, staying with me would mean giving up his magic, possibly forever. Even if it was what he wanted - and I knew it was not - I could not allow him to make such a sacrifice.   
And then there was the matter of the cutting. Nothing I did had any impact on the boy, as frustrating as that was. I didn't have the experience, either with cutting or with _bouya_, to deal with the situation. And somehow I doubted what experience I did have with depression would be enough to help. It was maddening, in a perverse sort of fashion.   
He was caught in the throws of another nightmare when I returned, thrashing violently in his anxiousness to be free of whatever terror had snared his sleeping mind. I could no more stand idle and watch him then I could prevent his nightmares in the first place. Kneeling at his bedside, I reached out to gently shake his shoulder . . . and was rocked back as he lashed out instinctively, waking only when his arm didn't return as he had expected.   
"A nightmare, _bouya_," I soothed, releasing his arm.   
"_Aa . . . gomen_," he murmured, rubbing at his wrist awkwardly with his injured hand as he sat up and hunched over his knees.   
"Have they always been this frequent?"   
"_Aa_ . . . yes. No. Sort of."   
"Sort of?" I asked, unable to hide the quiet amusement at his answer, though I knew he was trying to be serious.   
"They . . . they get worse right after. . . . It . . . takes time to make them fade again," he explained, unthinkingly worrying at the watch on his left wrist. I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. Whatever he had been dreaming, it had disturbed him deeply if even his sliced hand wasn't bothering him. Or perhaps it was and it was that pain off of which he was feeding his veneer of calm.   
"Go back to sleep, Bon. You need your rest if you are to heal. . . ."   
"_Hai_ . . . _arigatou_, Mibu-san."   
I settled the blanket about his shoulders, watching over him as he fell back to sleep almost reluctantly. My own mind was in chaos, selfish desires conflicting with what ought to be. Not wanting to burden him unduly with my own confusion, I retreated to stand beside a rear window, allowing my mind to wander as I watched the smoke from my pipe join the morning mists wending around the ghostly forms of the silvered maple trees. Though I still called him a boy, he was old enough to be a man, entitled to making his own choices. And he would choose to go back to Meifu, never to return, of that much I was certain. It was the right decision. So why was I feeling uncharacteristically reluctant to lose his company? He was snappish, cold at the best of times, standoffish, and constantly pushing away. All in all, he was a far cry from an ideal companion. And for five nights in a row I had been haunted with images of those emerald eyes and a youth forever trapped in a body that had not yet started it's final growth spurt.   
Madness. Complete and utter madness. I did _not_ need companionship so badly that I would turn to a teenager who all but hated me, no matter how beautiful he was. I would not be so easily dragged into whatever mad scheme Kazutaka was plotting this time.   
I drew in a deep breath, savoring the tobbaco smoke until it burned my lungs, then exhaled in a controlled stream. Blue-grey smoke swirled away in ethereal strands, meandering through the mist-darkened trunks of the maple trees beyond my window. A living shield that granted privacy both to myself and to my neighbor. A wall that hemmed me in as surely as any stones would have done. The rustling leaves whispered of duties and responsibilities not yet met and that would not go away or diminish, no matter how I ignored them. My life was no place for a wife, but it was what was expected.   
"He's trapped us both."   
_Bouya_'s voice startled me out of my thoughts, haunted eyes staring up at me. He shivered, then drew the blanket around himself more tightly, looking surprisingly vulnerable. He had taken to looking out the window as well, but his eyes were vacant, unseeing.   
"You in your hopelessness and me in my rage. He's laughing at us, you know. . . . Laughing at how easily he can manipulate us. Do you really think he feels anything for you? He's not capable of it! You think he could ever love you? He thinks love's a waste of time!"   
"Do you delight in reminding me!" I yelled at him, anger surging upward with alarming speed. "Do you take pleasure in seeing my pain?!"   
"I. . . ."   
"I've known him for more than half my life; you think I don't know what he's like??"   
"I . . . Mibu-san . . . you're hurting me. . . ."   
And it was true. In my rage, I'd thrown him against the wall, pining his shoulder to the window frame. The blanket had fallen to the floor already and his tunic had slid askew, baring the pale skin of his too-thin shoulder and making his trembling all the more obvious. A physical desire I had been fighting to deny fed on that exposed flesh, becoming a haunting voice in my thoughts that hungered for more.   
"_Aa_ . . . forgive me," I murmured, releasing him to turn away as I fought to bring myself back under control. I could feel his hesitation, fingertips barely whispering against the fabric of my _kimono_. There was no logic to the desires that bubbled up with that touch - we fought daily over the most trivial of things. And yet. . . .   
"I . . . you had a right to be angry," _bouya_ murmured at length. "You'd think I'd learn. . . ."   
"Learn?" I asked, turning slightly to peer at him from the corner of my eye. Hugging himself tightly, his eyes downcast, he was both painfully beautiful and terribly vulnerable. The strident voice of longing urged me to gather him into my arms, to kiss away the tears he held inside, but I resisted. I could not force myself on this beautiful boy!   
"His faces . . . his lies. . . ."   
"Then . . . am I forgiven, _bouya_?"   
The question slipped out before I could stop it, my control similarly slipping as I completed my turn to face him. He was still hugging himself tightly, still avoiding my gaze. Silence hung between us, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of morning, as if we were frozen in a moment of time.   
I was beginning to wonder if he intended to say anything at all when his voice, a bare whisper, reached out and touched something deep inside: "There's nothing to forgive. . . ."   
"Then forgive me this," I murmured, closing what little distance remained between us to tilt his chin upwards and brush a whisper of a kiss across surprisingly soft lips. Wide green eyes blinked up at me, too shocked to do anything as my touch faded from his skin. Another tremor shook through him and then he fell to his knees.   
"No . . . this isn't happening . . . this isn't happening. . . ."   
I knelt before him, gently brushing away the tears that threatened to spill down alabaster cheeks. He drew in a few shuddering breaths, trying to bring himself back under control. I tried to still the whispered urges I was feeling, but it was a futile battle, those forbidden desires fueled by his lack of revulsion. A battle I conceded entirely when, with eyes tightly closed, he pressed my hand to his cheek.   
"I don't want to be alone anymore," he whispered, so perfectly echoing my thoughts as to be almost eerie.   
"Then stay here, _bouya_. Stay with me, my Hisoka. . . ."   
Only a handful of words, and yet I had betrayed his welfare with my selfish wants. I pulled my hand free, eliciting a tiny whimper of protest.   
"Mibu-san. . . ."   
"Oriya. My given name is Oriya."   
"Oriya," he murmured softly, as if tasting the sound of the name on his lips. He shivered then, an incongruous reminder that he was still a virgin. Not physically, not in the most literal sense, and yet . . . he still radiated a certain purity, an innocence that was intoxicating.   
Though I tried to tell myself I was drawing him closer so he didn't have to feel so cold, it was a weak lie at best. A soft smile dared to pull at the corner of my mouth as the boy willingly rested his head against my shoulder with a quiet sigh. Eyes closed, there was a measure of trust being exuded that I hadn't experienced in . . . a long time. I gently turned his head, brushing a light kiss across his lips. As much as I tried to tell myself that it was enough, the voice of need was not so easily subdued. So I stole another kiss from unresponsive lips, unable to stop the sigh that followed.   
"Is something wrong?" he murmured, eyes filled with confused concern.   
"Only how much you don't know," I replied quietly, waiting for him to open his mouth to speak before sweeping in for another kiss. Gently suckling on his lower lip, my hand slipped under the hem of his thin tunic, tracing faint lines across his lower back. Surprisingly needy whimpers caught in my Hisoka's throat, all the encouragement one could want.   
"Mibu-san. . . ?"   
I don't know how I missed hearing Seiya's _geta_ in the passageway or the rustle of the door sliding open, but her voice was quite another matter. I turned to admonish her for intruding without knocking, but the words died unsaid at the embarrassment I saw in her posture. Brilliant crimson had blossomed across her cheeks, though she tried to hide it in her intense study of the floor, thin fingers absently toying with a tassle on the breakfast tray she had been sent to deliver.   
"I didn't order breakfast."   
"I . . . I know, Owner, but. . . ."   
"But what?" I demanded, annoyance seeping into my voice when I realized _bouya_ had moved himself back to the bed and firmly wrapped himself in the duvet, as if embarrassed to have been seen in such intimate contact. His cheeks were nearly as flushed as Seiya's and I had the rather frustrating suspicion that yet another precious moment had been lost.   
"Sonashi-kaasan had to go out early. Cheisa-san is already nearly panicked; Kurouga-sama wishes to meet with you this evening."   
"One of these days I will impress upon him the importance of scheduling these things in advance," I muttered, more to myself than for Seiya's benefit, though I knew she would say nothing of my words. "Very well. Tell Cheisa I'll met with her as soon as I've finished."   
"_Hai_, Owner," she murmured, still not willing to look at me directly as she hurried out of the room. In other circumstances, I mused as I watched her hurry away, her embarrassment might have been amusing. Even endearing. But it was not what I wanted.   
Breakfast was a hurried and silent affair, at least on my part. Hisoka was still poking at his when I left to assist Cheisa in making sure all was right with the Ko Kaku Rou by that evening. Not a particularly difficult series of tasks, but they did keep me away from my guest all day, to my annoyance. And though I knew he was well tended - Nyassa spent the day with him in the guise of honing her skills as a silent companion - my mood was less than pleasant when Aiichirou arrived.   
"Ah, Mibu-kun, I do hope I haven't upset your plans too greatly. . . ."   
"You are always most welcome here, Kurouga-san."   
He only smiled and, despite sly attempts, blithely refused to admit to any agenda save wishing to see me until after dinner was completed and we had retired to the garden, I with my pipe and he with his cigarettes. I shivered at the unintentional reminder of Muraki and wondered what he was planning.   
"Something weighs on you, Mibu-kun. And it is not merely my unexpected company, though I confess to some surprise that you should find me such ill companionship."   
"I would never feel that way, Kurouga-san. . . ."   
"A silver tongue can be a gift in the floating world, but if you think you can fool your patron. . . . I've known you for too many years, Oriya."   
I watched the thin curl of smoke rising from the end of my pipe to keep from facing those knowing slate eyes. Aiichirou had watched over me since the day of my parents' deaths, arguing fervently with Sonashi and Yuriko until they had bowed to the unhappy truth that, though I was a man, the Ko Kaku Rou sat on my family's land and could not be taken from me. He had been my sponsor, aiding me in getting into the finest schools, for few, it seemed, were those who could resist his charms. Though the years had peppered his dark hair with grey, it made him seem dignified rather than merely old.   
"Why have you come here, truly?"   
"You are not as young as you once were, Oriya. Perhaps it is time you took a wife, yes? My daughter Nanko would be a good match for you."   
"Kurouga-san. . . ."   
"I worry for you, Oriya. All this loneliness is not good for you."   
"I would hardly call myself alone," I snorted, gesturing vaguely to the house and grounds around us.   
"Business. And that man. Not appropriate, as well you know."   
"I am aware of my duties, Aiichirou," I whispered, watching the night sky. The hour had grown late and I found myself wondering yet again about the childlike _shinigami_ hidden away in my room. Was he still awake? Would he be angry with me for leaving Nyassa with him all day? Thoughts that were inappropriate to my current situation and yet, would not leave me alone.   
"Perhaps it was wrong to force you into this position," Kurouga mused suddenly. "Perhaps another solution should have been found. This _is_ your family's land and you the only heir, but . . . I wonder if my sponsorship, my insistances, did more to harm than to help. . . ."   
"I don't understand. . . ."   
"_Aa_, just the idle musings of an old man. Pay them no mind, Mibu-kun. Indeed, I should probably be going home. Particularly since you seem so preoccupied with something."   
We walked to the entry in the sort of companionable silence that was almost enough to make me forget about his earlier proposal. Almost.   
"Think about what I've said, Mibu-kun," Kurouga said with quiet firmness as he paused in the door. "If not Nanko . . . perhaps someone closer?"   
He cast a significant look over my shoulder, then walked out to the waiting car. Looking back, I was surprised to see Seiya all but clinging to the shadows like one trying not to be noticed. With eyes tuned by my sponsor's words, I studied her anew. She was young yet, a dozen years my junior, but with a certain poise that spoke of a natural aptitude. She was a swift and patient student, intelligent dark eyes watching the world with shrewd interest. She had much to learn yet, of course, but her beauty alone would make her an acceptable wife for any man. And with a start I realized she had been assigned to my dinners with Aiichirou more often than not in the past year. Indeed, in the last three days, Sonashi had sent her with my breakfast twice and I could not ignore the possibility that there was something more than idle coincidence at work.   
I closed the distance between us, turning her chin when she tried to look away. A brief flicker of fear, swiftly replaced by the confidence of knowing she had done nothing wrong and the wariness of not knowing what I wanted from her. My thumb drew a brief line along her jaw, lingering a second too long against smooth skin.   
"You'll do," I murmured, releasing her. I could feel shocked eyes watching me as I walked past her, but she made no move to follow. I held back a smile, strongly suspecting that she would run either to Cheisa or Sonashi and beg for an explanation. I could almost wish to know what either would say.   
_Bouya_ was alone when I reached my room, propped up in bed with yet another hefty book. Irreverently, I wondered if he had taken it upon himself to read every book in my library. He only glanced over the top of the spine as I entered, paying me no real attention as I moved about the room. As if he were trying to avoid me as much as the limited space would allow. An understandable reaction, I suppose, given the morning's events, but not one I intended to simply accept from him. Not when strident desires had returned to nest in my heart.   
"How was your day?" I asked casually, hoping to draw him out that way.   
"Fine," he murmured, still not looking up.   
"I hear you were asking after a train schedule."   
"Yeah, well. . . ."   
The subtle approach having failed, I decided to take more decisive action. Pulling the book away with one hand, I clasped his chin, forcing him to look at me.   
"I'd rather you stayed," I murmured before capturing his mouth in a lingering kiss. Whatever his intended response, it was lost to him, replaced by a faint, needy whimper. I drew him closer, drinking in the gentle warmth of his mouth, the youthful contours of his body. I wanted him then, all of him, more than I had wanted anything since those first days with Kazutaka. If my Hisoka was passive, then it was only because he knew nothing else.   
With a gasp he pulled back, his hands flying up to ward me back as he lay collapsed against the headboard, panting. As much as I wanted to pull him close again, I respected his silent request for space, waiting for emerald eyes to open once more.   
"Too . . . much," he panted. "Want too much, too fast."   
I blinked down at him stupidly, taking several seconds before understanding clicked into place. His empathy. Of course he had responded to my advances - he was feeling everything I was feeling. For all that I had sworn not to push myself onto him, it seemed I had done so anyway.   
"_Gomen ne_, my Hisoka. I'll leave. . . ."   
I was just about to get up when his hand suddenly clamped down on my wrist. Startled, I looked back and found myself nearly lost in those jadeite depths.   
"Please stay," he whispered with surprising urgency. "I don't want to be alone."   
How could I refuse?   
"Then you mean to stay in my bed? Even with me in it?"   
"_Aa_ . . . even with you in it."   
His shy smile tugged at me anew, a smile of my own catching at the corner of my mouth. He released my hand and, with a silent promise to return, I got up to tend to the room's lights. The darkness of night folded around us swiftly and I returned to my bed to find him already burrowed under the blankets, half curled on his side. With a silent sigh, I slipped into the bed, drawing his slender frame into my arms. He wriggled momentarily, then sighed in contentment as he found a more comfortable position.   
"Good night, my Hisoka."   
"Good night, Oriya."   
I felt him drift into sleep swiftly, his body releasing all of it's tensions as dreamless sleep claimed him. Though I knew I could not hold him forever, I clung tenaciously to consciousness, savoring every moment. He could not stay; intellectually I knew it to be true. I had perhaps only a few hours more. How could I squander them on sleep? 


	7. VII: Sakura Tears

  
**Author's Note:** This is it, the last chapter of this fic. So there you go, your two minute warning, so to speak. A great big thank you to everyone who's reviewed this fic; it's been a lot of fun. The next Jadeite Arc fic is "Black Dove"; please give it a try as well.   
**Warnings:** Angst, yet again with the OC appearances, and it's the end of the fic.   
**Disclaimer:** _Yami no Matsuei_ is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The plot is definitely mine, though.   
  


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**Lost in Jade**   
_VII. WSakura Tears_

  
The first thing I noticed when I awoke the next morning was that I had overslept. The second thing I noticed was that the bed was not only empty, but cold - he had been gone for some time. I didn't know the train schedule - I had never needed to worry about it before. Could he have already left me, without even bothering to say goodbye?   
Forcing myself away from the parallel with Muraki, I made myself think of other things. After all, just because he wasn't in my bed, that didn't mean he wasn't in the Ko Kaku Rou. There were numerous other possibilities. My estate was not vast by any means, but it was large enough. It could be as simple as him being in the bath house, though something in me doubted it.   
I pushed _bouya_'s absence out of my mind, focusing on my morning rituals. A long bath, then half an hour of deep meditation in my garden, an exercise in thinking of nothingness. My own sword practice, followed by the walking rounds, checking on both restaurant and employees. There was an avoidant silence hanging over Ko Kaku Rou, an efficiency in servants and geisha alike that bespoke an eagerness not to catch my attention. Even Shinji was unusually quiet and compliant through his lesson.   
Shinji walked beside me in uncharacteristic silence as we both retired to the bath house at the back end of the estate. It was strange behavior - I had not invited him to join me and he was usually more than willing to use the bath at the front of the property. But his presence would, hopefully, help keep my mind from wandering.   
"I could wash your back, _sensei_," he offered as we each stood under the massaging shower heads.   
"In a minute, thank you."   
I stood under the shower head, eyes squeezed tightly shut as I let the water cascade down on me. A waste of money, perhaps, but worked muscles appreciated the gentle rhythmic assault of the shower's water. It wouldn't take me long to wash off the clinging sweat from the lesson and I so rarely indulged myself. . . .   
I started at the sudden unexpected feel of fingers running through the wet mass of my hair, gathering it into a loose twist before flipping it over my shoulder. Shinji. A whole head taller than me with the awkward lankiness of his eighteen years, he was normally quite animated, dark grey eyes often alight with amusement. As they were then, laughing at my surprise behind dripping black fringe.   
"I could wash that too," he said quietly, gesturing to the rope of my hair. "I'm told I'm very good at it. Very relaxing. As tense as you seem to be. . . ."   
"That's not necessary. . . ."   
"It's no trouble," Shinji replied with a shy smile, gathering the length of my hair into his hands. It had been . . . awhile since I had allowed someone else to tend my hair; I was particular with its proper care. But it was soon apparent why Shinji had a reputation for being good as he worked the lather into my scalp. As relaxing as he had promised. Perhaps too relaxing, as I caught my thoughts wandering, analyzing Shinji's presence and why he would bother. I was not at all certain I liked where my thoughts were headed.   
"That's enough."   
"But, I haven't even --"   
"I said that's enough!"   
I hadn't meant to bark at him, but once the words were spoken, it was too late to take back the tone. Shinji flinched, silently withdrawing, no doubt to nurse his wounded pride elsewhere. I shouldn't have yelled at him - he had only been trying to help me. The possibility that it might have benefited him as well . . . if he had even thought about it, and I couldn't say if he had or not, it still hadn't been his primary purpose. Of that much I could be certain; he had genuinely wanted to help me, if only in some small way.   
Finishing my showering swiftly, I then retreated to my garden to bask in the mid-morning sun and meditate once more, restless to restore my sense of internal equilibrium. It was always peaceful back there, a world apart, marked equally by it's isolation and it's natural beauty. No one would trouble me and I found myself grateful for that fact. My own mind was trouble enough, my thoughts unwelcome company as they circled around both Bon and Shinji. Of an age with each other, one forever trapped in a body too young for his wisdom, the other only beginning to move from awkward youth into adulthood. Nothing alike, even to their opposite reactions to my company. And my reactions to them.   
"_Bakayarou_," I sighed to myself, settling beside the koi pond. "Wanting what runs away, while driving away what longs to sit at your feet. Mibu Oriya, you are truly a fool. . . ."   
But knowing my folly did nothing to change it. Which was, perhaps, as Kazutaka had intended. How deeply had his meddling gone? Or was I now constructing a tower of shadows, imagining conspiracy all around me when the truth was far simplier because I did not want to see it? Occam's Razor. All things being equal, the simpliest answer was usually the right one. But what _was_ the simpliest answer? That my love for Kazutaka had so failed as to allow my heart to run to another? Impossible! Monster though he had become, the man I loved still lingered within, buried in a madness too seductive in the depths of it's darkness.   
And yet. . . .   
By the midday meal, I was forced to accept the fact that Bon had left without saying a word. I was annoyed, true, but accepting. He had been wanting to leave from the very first, nearly six days ago. Besides, what did I care? Beautiful death, there was nothing for me in his jade eyes. This longing was a sickness, a madness of Kazutaka's design, and nothing more. And now that _bouya_ was gone, I would be free to make things right again, both within myself and in the greater sphere of the Ko Kaku Rou. I had shirked my own responsibilities while caring for him and though Ko Kaku Rou was more than able to run itself, that did not mean I had not allowed for certain duties to lapse.   
This was the right way. Kurosaki was nothing but a distraction, a white elephant to keep me from noticing Muraki's withdrawal. I was better off without him around.   
Perhaps if I repeated it enough times, I would make myself believe.   
"I thought I'd find you here. . . ."   
He was still here. My brain froze as I turned to stare at him stupidly. Leaning against one of the passageway roof's support poles, he looked frightfully vulnerable in the baggy grey sweatshirt and worn jeans acquired who knew where. The dark rings under his eyes stood out even more against his too pale skin; he still had healing to do, as strange as it was to think such a thing of a _shinigami_. I wanted to ask him to stay longer, but the ice in those luminous green eyes killed the words before they could be spoken.   
"I have to go," he said quietly. "I know what you want, but . . . I can't stay here. . . ."   
"I know."   
I felt like a traitor to my own heart. And incurably stupid for feeling that way.   
"Cheisa-san already made arrangements for my train ticket. She even got me some clothes," he murmured, plucking at his sweatshirt momentarily. "But I . . . couldn't just leave without saying a word."   
"If. . . ."   
If what? What could I say? I pushed a hand through my still damp hair in frustration, turning away from him to stare out at the courtyard, pretending to watch the breeze dancing through the ornamental maple. Pale pinkish-white spots dappled the yard where _sakura_ blossoms littered the stones, dropping in lazy swishes and buffeted about by the least breeze. Regardless of my wants, there was nothing I could say. His life was in Meifu, with his fellow _shinigami_. I knew this, had told myself that very same truth over and over and over again. And still that stubborn, inexplicable, selfish desire for him to remain.   
"If?" the boy whispered, startling me both by his proximity and the brush of fingertips across my shoulders.   
"If something happens . . . if _he_ wins. . . . _Bouya_, your life need not end just because his does. . . ."   
"I. . . ."   
But I didn't let him finish his sentance, pulling him down into my lap roughly and kissing him, hungry for the taste of him. For more than just a taste, to be truthful, though I was willing to settle for the rare delicacy of his kiss if that was all he would give me.   
At first there was nothing, like the handful of stolen kisses before. Like kissing unfeeling stone, or one who had never known a thing about intimacy of any sort. And then, a tentative response, a curious tongue seeking to know more, to learn more. All too quickly, however, he was pulling away from me, drawing a growl of frustration.   
"Oriya. . . ."   
"If, in the end, you can't be everything he needs . . . remember there is one to whom you can. . . ."   
What was I saying?   
"Oriya-san, I . . . I can't stay here. . . ."   
Another hesitation and then _bouya_ stood up, not quite meeting my gaze.   
"What you want . . . these feelings . . . they aren't right. You'll see, when I'm gone. . . ."   
His voice trailed off as he placed a wooden support pole between us, a symbolic distance that echoed the distances still uncrossable that lay between our two worlds. Though my heart cried to deny it, my intellect knew better. All of this would be far too easy for Kazutaka to arrange, though a part of me did not want to believe he could have done such a thing to me. When the boy was truly gone, the spell would be broken, the illusion revealed for the lie it was.   
_But didn't you think that before? He was gone all morning and your desires for him have not changed._   
"Aa, _gomen, demo_ . . . Kurosaki-san, Seishu-san is ready," Seiya murmured demurely, a light flush coloring her cheeks.   
"Seishu can wait a moment longer, Seiya," I said quietly. "Fetch a card and pen from my office, please."   
I could feel his questioning eyes on me as Seiya hurried to do my bidding, no doubt wondering what I was doing. But he remained silent, held either by curiosity or something else. It didn't matter; Seiya was already returning, perplexed but obedient. Taking the business card and pen from her, I paused a moment and smiled; while I doubted she was aware of it, Seiya had inadvertently grabbed one of my calligraphy pens. The card by itself would likely be enough - I rarely used the things. But for _bouya_ . . . I wanted to be sure there would be no misunderstanding.   
_'The bearer of this card, Kurosaki Hisoka, is to be extended the same courtesy as would be shown to myself. So ordered, Mibu Oriya.'_   
It was doubtful any of my staff would need to be told such a thing, of course. Not after the young _shinigami_ had spent nearly a week in my bed. Even _bouya_ gave it a curious look when I gave it to him.   
"For when you return," I explained quietly. "Should you find yourself needing a place to stay. Or anything else."   
"I . . . thank you, Mibu-san."   
Another momentary hesitation, then he bowed before turning away and following Seiya to the front. I turned my back to his retreating form, watching the thin curl of smoke rising from the end of my pipe instead. The _sakura_ petals fell in pink silken waves, the weeping of the trees. And perhaps my dying heart as well. 

End of Jadeite Arc #1: Lost in Jade


End file.
